


Second Chance

by emeraldorchids



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldorchids/pseuds/emeraldorchids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda receives shocking news about her husband while in Paris, and both Andrea and the twins' father are there to support her. Miranda knows what she wants, but will she finally learn to let someone else in?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story includes references to and depictions of a heterosexual relationship, as well as a minor character death, and a brief reference to sexual assault (although, not against Miranda or Andrea). Caveat lector.

Andrea’s mind was reeling. The last thing she wanted to do right now was get into a car with the woman who just crushed Nigel’s hopes at a dream job—all without blinking an eye. She was almost relieved when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, um, I’m sorry, is this Miranda’s assistant?”

“Yes,” Andrea said curiously. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“My name is Kim Tomlinson, I’m her sister-in-law. I’ve been trying to reach her—do you know where she is?”

Andrea took a seat in the town car and glanced over at Miranda. “Yes, of course. I will tell her you called,” she said, knowing that any member of the Tomlinson family was likely the last person Miranda wanted to speak with at the moment, especially after last night.

“Wait—” Kim said. “Please—I know she’s ignoring me, and I know she won’t call me back. Stephen is in the Intensive Care unit at New York Presbyterian right now. He was…attacked. My mother and I are at the airport in Dallas now, we’re on our way to see him. Can you please tell her?”

“Yes, of course. I’m so sorry. I’ll give her the message,” Andrea said.

“Thank you, um…what was your name?”

“Andy.”

“Thank you, Andy. You’re the kindest person I’ve spoken with in the past hour. I should let you go.”

“I’ll let Miranda know you called. Have a safe flight.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye,” Andrea said, hanging up the phone. She expected Miranda to grill her about the mysterious call, but it appears her thoughts were elsewhere as she gazed out the window.

“You thought I didn’t know,” Miranda said quietly.

Andrea held up her hand, interrupting the woman and causing her to turn away from the window. “Stephen is in the ICU—he has been attacked. His sister and mother are on their way to New York. That was Kim—she’s been trying to reach you,” she said. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, awaiting a severe tongue-lashing.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed the silver-haired editor had paled, and was frantically digging through her bag. She huffed, then tossed the bag into the space next to her.

Without saying a word, Andrea reached inside the bag and pulled out Miranda’s cell phone and handed it to her. While Miranda waited for it to power up, Andrea texted the hotel concierge and asked when the next flight from CDG to LGA would be departing.

As Miranda dialed, Andrea realized she was holding her breath.

“Hello, Kimberly—it’s Miranda. What happened?” she asked.

Andrea could see her hand trembling.

“Oh dear god,” she said. “No, I didn’t….You’ll stay at the townhouse, of course….No, my staff will make all the arrangements. There will be a driver to pick you up from the airport when you land,” she said, flicking her wrist at Andrea.

Andrea was already sending messages to Roy and Cara.

“No, I’m actually in Paris right now. The twins are with their father until Sunday, and that’s probably best….Yes, of course. I will be there as soon as I can….Okay, call me if there are any updates?…Yes, goodbye.”

Miranda ended the call and dropped her phone into her lap.

“Fucking bastard,” she muttered, balling her fist and pressing it to her lips as tears fell from her eyes.

Andrea wasn’t sure what to say to Miranda, especially since the last time she offered to do something, she was given a cold ‘Your job.’ So, she decided she would do just that. She leaned forward and asked the driver to return to the hotel. The concierge informed her that the next flight was departing at 15:40, approximately ninety minutes from the present. Andrea wrote back, asking him to secure two tickets on that flights and email her the boarding pass and confirmation. She again texted Roy to have a car for Miranda at La Guardia in New York at 5:30 PM.

She purposely averted her eyes from the crying woman next to her, knowing she wouldn’t be able to think straight if she was witness to the editor’s anguish. Next, she emailed Leslee to look into the attack and take care of any press relations. She sent Nigel a quick text explaining that an emergency came up and Miranda needed to rush back to New York. _No, the girls were fine. Yes, she specifically asked for Nigel to take her place for the remainder of the week._ Andrea knew Miranda wouldn’t even consider Nigel’s feelings at this moment.

As they arrived at the hotel, Andrea turned to the editor, who was staring out the window. “Miranda, your flight to New York departs in just over an hour. I will run up to your room and pack a small bag for you. Do you have your passport with you?”

Miranda thought for a moment. “No, it’s with the documents laying on the desk,” she said. “And Andrea, you will join me. Be sure to retrieve your own passport.”

Andrea nodded and jumped out of the car. As she ran inside, she asked the concierge to try and secure another ticket on the flight. Upstairs, as she was packing Miranda’s bag, she phoned the assistant from _Runway France_ and informed her that Miranda needed both rooms packed up and the items shipped back to New York with the rest of the American _Runway_ team. Once she was in her own room, she quickly changed into a more sensible blouse and black matchstick pants, then headed back down to the lobby with both bags.

“Louis, were you able to get another seat on the flight?” she asked as he handed her the boarding pass confirmation.

“No, mademoiselle, I apologize, but you booked the last two seats on that flight. The next flight leaves at 16:50 and I reserved space there if you should need—”

“No. We need the 15:40 flight. Thank you,” she said. She handed him the keys to her suite and Miranda’s. “Chloe from _Runway_ will be here to pack up our rooms. Please see that she receives these keys.”

They traveled to the airport in silence. At the security gate, Miranda grabbed Andrea’s arm to balance as she stepped out of her heels. Andrea was grateful she had the opportunity to change into sensible clothing for the flight.

As they took a seat in the VIP Lounge at the gate, Andrea excused herself to go speak to the flight attendants. First, she wanted to confirm that Miranda had a window seat in first class, which she did. Next, she wanted to inquire whether all passengers had checked in. She was hoping that there would be an extra seat somewhere on the plane so Miranda could be afforded the privacy of an empty seat next to her. Unfortunately, all passengers had checked in, as well as several stand-by passengers.

She returned to the lounge, which was quickly filling up. Miranda was sending a message on her phone.

“Miranda, the flight is booked solid, so you won’t have an empty seat next to you,” Andrea said. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

Miranda shrugged and tucked her phone into her bag.

As they boarded the plane, Miranda said something to one of the flight attendants, sending him running off. Andrea couldn’t even begin to think of what the request was. Miranda slid into her seat by the window while Andrea stowed their luggage overhead. She took a seat next to Miranda, and before she could even buckle the seatbelt, the flight attendant returned with what appeared to be a double scotch, neat. Andrea shot him an apologetic smile and mouthed a ‘thank you.’

Once they were in the air, Miranda, still looking out the window, began to speak. “He was in the West Village—Christopher Street. The police responded to an anonymous 9-1-1 call and found him unconscious on the sidewalk. He—” her voice crackled. She took another sip of her drink, draining the glass. “He was hit in the head with a brick. And, kicked—over and over. He—” she brought her hand up to cover her face as she gasped. The flight attendant returned with another drink, and Andrea silently replaced the glass in her hand. “He was sodomized,” she finally choked out.

Andrea fought back the tears in her eyes. Sure, from what little she saw, Stephen didn’t deserve a woman like Miranda, but no one deserves such horrific brutality. “Have you heard how he is doing?” Andrea asked quietly.

Miranda shrugged and shook her head. “Still unconscious, I guess. I spoke with James and—well, apparently this story has received a bit of attention from the press. That’s how I found out the details.”

“I phoned Leslee right away, so I’m sure she will have that contained by the time we return,” Andrea said.

Miranda just shrugged and turned back to the window, sipping on her drink.

Several hours later, Miranda got up to use the bathroom. When she returned, she sank into the seat and simply stared at the seat back in front of her.

Andrea was trying to avert her eyes, but she couldn’t help looking up from her book.

“Stop staring at me,” Miranda hissed. “I should never have asked you to accompany me.”

Andrea fought the urge to point out the fact that Miranda did not _ask,_ she _commanded._ “I’m sorry,” Andrea said after a brief pause. “I’m really sorry about what happened.”

Miranda closed her eyes and nodded ever so slightly. Her right hand twitched on the armrest between them.

Andrea glanced down at the hand, then back up at Miranda’s eyes. The woman was clearly fighting her tears. Andrea softly laid her hand on top of Miranda’s and squeezed, gently brushing her thumb across her knuckles. “If you need to cry, it’s okay,” she whispered.

Miranda quickly squeezed back, then brought her knees to her chest in the seat and began sobbing—all while her right hand maintained contact with Andrea. When she finally regained her breathing, she pulled her hand away and self-consciously wiped her eyes, shaking her head at the evidence of mascara and eyeliner now on her hands.

Andrea reached for her purse and pulled out a pack of moisturizing, makeup removing wipes from Yes to Carrots. She handed a wipe to Miranda, who turned to face the window. Miranda removed her eye makeup, then slipped on her oversized sunglasses and slouched back into the seat.

“When the flight attendant comes back, get me glass of water,” she said.

Andrea did. After Miranda took a few sips, she set the glass down in the cup holder.

“I love him, you know. Our marriage—us—it hasn’t been perfect. W—we—it was better when we were just friends. Neither of us could seem to put the relationship first,” Miranda said.

Andrea just nodded. She wasn’t quite sure what Miranda was talking about, since her only experience with him involved Miranda being seriously pissed off. Regardless, she wasn’t about to ask questions. It looked like Miranda had fallen asleep, so she took the opportunity to close her eyes, too


	2. Chapter 2

Back in New York, Miranda asked Roy to take her straight to the hospital. Andrea started to head towards the taxi line, but Miranda shot her this look that said _don’t you dare think about leaving me._

At the hospital, they were immediately greeted at the entrance and led up to the ICU since Andrea had phoned ahead. When they approached the door, Andrea gently brushed Miranda’s arm. “I’ll sit right out here,” she said, pointing to an empty chair. “Did you want coffee or anything?”

Miranda shook her head, and entered the room. There would have been no way to prepare herself for the sight before her eyes. Kim was sitting on one side of the bed while Charlotte was at the other. Stephen was attached to nearly a dozen different monitors and tubes, and between the bruising and bandages, he was nearly unrecognizable. Miranda couldn’t fight the tears escaping her eyes. She took off her sunglasses and tossed them in her bag as she walked up next to Kim.

“How is he?” she asked.

Kim stood and hugged her, crying into her neck. Miranda would never admit it, but the hug felt good. She was almost disappointed when Kim pulled away.

“I guess he was awake for a while in the emergency room. That’s how they knew to call us—Stephen asked them to,” Kim said. “No, I mean, they called you first, but there was no answer, and he must have known you were in Paris. He wanted to call you first,” she said.

“Whatever,” Miranda said. “His injuries?”

“There was some internal bleeding and, uh, tearing. His head injury is serious. They had to do surgery and try to repair some vessels or nerves or something. I guess his brain bounced around a lot in his skull and the swelling is the worst part right now. They’re keeping him in a drug-induced coma to manage the pain, and hopefully the swelling will go down. They said something about maybe needing to remove a portion of his skull so his brain has room to swell comfortably? I’m sorry, I wasn’t following all the details,” she said.

Miranda nodded and squeezed Kim’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here. How did you manage to get her to New York?” she whispered, nodding towards Charlotte. “I thought she doesn’t believe in traveling north?”

“She thinks you’re going to try and pull the plug,” Kim said shrugging.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “She knows I’m more financially secure than him, right?”

“I believe her phrase for it is ‘Yankee Gold-digger.’”

Miranda’s lips curled slightly at the corner. It had been so many years since her mother passed, she almost forgot some of the ridiculous things people of that generation say. “Does she know about—” Miranda cleared her throat. She wasn’t able to bring herself to say it.

Kim understood. “No. I left that out. Visiting hours here end at 7 PM, but they will allow one person to spend the night. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay, tonight anyway.”

“Of course, he’s your big brother,” Miranda said with a half smile. “Charlotte can ride back to the townhouse with me. I don’t want to upset her, but I need a few minutes alone with him.”

“Oh, of course. We’ll go get some fresh air and stretch our legs,” Kim said. She walked over and whispered something to her mother, and they both began walking out the door. Charlotte glared at Miranda as she perched on the edge of the hospital bed.

“Who did this to you, my love?” she whispered, ever so gently tracing her fingertips along the area on his cheek that was not bruised. She gently pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, trying to find an inch of skin not covered by bandages or tape. She sat in the chair and reached down for his hand. Careful not to dislodge the IV or pulse oximeter, she took his hand and pressed it against her cheek as she cried.

“Please forgive me, Stephen,” she whispered. “I’ve been awful to you lately. You’re my best friend—perhaps my only friend—in the whole world. I can’t lose you. If you can hear me, know that I’m ripping those divorce papers up. Actually, I left them on the desk in Paris. We will figure something out, just, don’t leave me like this,” she said.

A few minutes later, Kim came back into the room with a Diet Coke and a take-out bag from the deli downstairs. Miranda kissed Stephen’s palm, then gently laid his hand back down on the bed. Without another word, she walked out into the hall where Andrea and Charlotte were waiting.

“Charlotte, this is Andrea, my assistant. If there’s anything you need, please let her know,” Miranda said.

“Roy’s waiting at the side entrance,” Andrea said, indicating for the women to follow her.

At the townhouse, Roy brought Miranda’s bag upstairs, and Andrea asked him to wait around so he could drive her back to her apartment. Normally, she would take the subway, but tonight she was too exhausted to think straight.

Miranda went straight up to her room without saying a word to either of them. Andrea showed Charlotte her bedroom on the third floor, and offered to bring her some tea and dinner. Surely, Cara had something prepared and waiting in the fridge.

“Thank you, Andrea.”

“Please, call me Andy.”

“Oh, alright. I think some tea and crackers will be enough. I’d like to take a shower, though, so you can just leave it on the dresser,” she said.

Andrea quickly made a pot of tea, then piled some crackers, a cup and saucer, honey, a small creamer filled with milk, an apple, banana, and a small to-go pack of peanut butter the girls took in their lunches. She added a spoon and knife, popped the tea cozy on the teapot, and carried the tray upstairs to Charlotte’s room.

She didn’t want to bother Miranda, but she didn’t want to leave without acknowledgement, either. She scribbled down a quick note and set it on the floor just outside Miranda’s door, where she would be sure to see it in the morning.

Miranda fell asleep before she could even change out of her clothes, and it wasn’t until nearly eight hours later that she woke. Looking at the clock, she saw it was 3:12 AM. She sat up and checked her phone, relieved to find no missed calls or messages. Since it was still too early to really do anything, she decided to take a shower and change into some clean clothes.

After her shower, she headed downstairs in search of something to drink, and stopped when she saw the note from Andrea outside her door.

> _Miranda—_
> 
> _Charlotte is settled in the south guest room. Cara’s pasta is in the fridge, and the coffee maker is already set. I will plan on heading into the office at 7 tomorrow morning. I know this goes without saying, but call me if you need anything, even if you just want to talk…or not talk. Whatever._
> 
> _-Andrea_

Miranda smiled at the note. Even on paper, Andrea rambled on. She carefully folded the note and continued downstairs in search of coffee. There was a large envelope on the table in the foyer, and out of curiosity, she peered inside. Emily must have dropped it off, although she was so distraught, she wouldn’t have noticed it yesterday anyway.

She carried the envelope with her into the kitchen and sat to peruse its contents—the police report from Stephen’s assault—while her coffee brewed.

Nearly an hour and an entire pot of coffee later, she placed all the documents back into the envelope and pushed it aside. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, staring at her phone as she debated making the call.

With a sigh, she pressed “Send.”

“Hello, Miranda?”

“Hi,” she said.

After a slight pause, Andrea replied, “Hi.”

“I’m…uh, I’m sorry about the hour. I…just…I don’t know,” Miranda stammered.

“No worry. Were you able to get some sleep?” Andrea asked.

“Yes, actually, I slept almost eight hours,” Miranda said. “You?”

Andrea was a little surprised at the question. “Yeah, yes. I fell asleep right after I got home.”

“I woke you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping very well anyway.”

Miranda softly hummed, signaling for Andrea to continue.

“I was thinking about you,” she said quietly.

That response elicited a genuine laugh from Miranda. “And do I plague your dreams often?” she asked.

“I—uh—no—no—I just—”

“Andrea, relax. I was just trying to avoid talking about… I just read the police report.” For several minutes, neither of them spoke.

“Miranda?”

“Still here.”

Andrea sighed in relief. “Did you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Andrea said, deciding on a different approach. “So, when I get into the office, I was going to type up and organize the notes from the shows this week. I’ll have Nigel send over his portion, too. I know you’ll want to see the collections of Marant and Packham in more detail, so I’ll schedule a showing as soon as possible. And—”

“Stop.” 

“—Helmut Lang…”

“I cannot think about work right now. Not while—this. Not right now.”

“Sorry,” Andrea said. “I just thought the change of subject would, well, never mind.”

After a few more minutes of silence, Miranda yawned into the phone.

“Are you still tired?” Andrea asked. She herself could barely keep her eyes open.

“A little. Maybe. You?”

Before Andrea could speak, the shrill beeping of her alarm clock vibrated through the telephone. “Sorry,” she said, turning it off. “But to answer your question, yes, I am tired. And that was my alarm clock signaling the start of my day.”

“Don’t worry about work,” Miranda said.

“What?”

“Andrea I don’t enjoy repeating myself. I said do not worry about work. There’s nothing going on in the office that Emily can’t handle, and there’s nothing you can do for Nigel from New York.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

“Be ready by 9:15—we will swing by and pick you up on the way.”

Andrea inhaled sharply. Part of her thought she would rather go to the office than accompany Miranda to her husband’s bedside, but she knew better than to say anything.

“Did you have other plans?”

Andrea bit her lip. She knew Miranda was getting frustrated. “No other plans. I will be ready.”

“Good. Well…”

“I’m going to try and get another hour or two of sleep—if you don’t mind. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Miranda said. “Andrea—thank you.”

* * *

Once at the hospital, Andrea again sat in the hallway, but Miranda kept finding excuses to pop her head out.

The next few days went by in much the same fashion. Miranda was having difficulty sleeping, and she found some strange comfort in the young brunette’s voice—even when they weren’t speaking.

Stephen’s condition didn’t change. Because of the concerns about his intercranial pressure, the doctors wanted to wait another day or so before bringing him out of his coma.

On Sunday afternoon, James brought Cassidy and Caroline back to the townhouse, and Andrea was there to help them get settled until Miranda returned.

Around nine o’clock that night, Miranda came through the door looking utterly exhausted. Charlotte went straight up to the guest room. The girls hugged their mother and walked her into the kitchen, where they were having hot chocolate with Andrea.

“Who was that, Mom?”

“That’s Stephen’s mother. She’s staying the guest room—your aunt Kim is staying with us, too, but she’s been spending the night at the hospital,” she said, taking a seat at the table.

“Miranda, let me make you something to eat,” Andrea said, placing a cup of hot tea in front of her. “I can do a chopped salad, toasted cheese, pasta with olive oil, soup, or maybe some eggs and toast?”

Miranda shook her head and took a sip of the tea. “I’m fine.”

Andrea sighed. She was clearly not ‘fine’—she hardly ate anything since they returned from Paris. “Soup it is, then,” she said.

Miranda’s eyes widened and she tried to glare at the young woman who was making herself at home in her kitchen, but she found she didn’t have the strength to care.

“Mom?” Caroline said.

“Yes? What Bobbsey?”

“I said, is Stephen going to be coming home soon?”

Miranda grew tense and pushed the teacup away from her.

“Hey Caroline,” Andrea said, walking over and squatting down in front of the young girl. “Stephen is trying to get healthy and strong right now. His doctors want to make sure he’s strong enough to handle you two before they send him home,” she said.

“Can we see go see him?”

Miranda quickly jumped in. “No, Bobbsey, not right now. He’s in a special area of the hospital where—where—”

“—Where the doctors can treat head injuries and monitor patients regularly. Like your dad was telling you earlier, he bumped his head pretty hard,” Andrea said.

“Right,” Miranda said, wrapping her arm around Caroline. “But when he’s starting to feel better and the doctors say it’s okay, I’m sure he’d appreciate a visit.”

“Will you give him a message for us?” Cassidy asked, walking up alongside her sister.

Miranda tilted her head and wrapped her arm around her other daughter.

“Remind him that he owes us burgers. Jessica got voted off American Idol, so we won the bet,” she said.

“Burgers?” Andrea asked as she set a bowl of tomato basil soup down in front of Miranda.

Caroline rolled her eyes. “You know, hamburgers? He makes them on the grill and they’re, like, better than In-N-Out. He thought Jessica was going to win but we knew she wouldn’t. She kept picking really bad outfits every week.”

“Oh, I see,” Andrea said.

“I’ll be sure to tell him,” Miranda said, kissing each daughter on the top of the head. “You two are staying home from school this week, but I still want you in bed at a decent time, so go on upstairs.”

They said their goodnights and trampled up the stairs. Andrea made herself a cup of tea and sat across from Miranda at the table. Miranda finished half her bowl of soup, and pushed the rest away.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Andrea said.

“I had no idea they were that close with him,” she said, frowning her lips in such a way that it looked like she was trying to keep herself from crying.

Andrea stood and cleared away the soup bowl. “Would you like anything else?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said, pushing her chair away from the table. “I’m not going to the hospital tomorrow. The doctors are planning to wake him on Tuesday, so I’ll stay with the girls here.”

“Oh okay,” Andrea said. “I’ll, um, head to the office at the usual time, then? Help Nigel and Jocelyn catch-up on everything?” Part of her hoped Miranda would ask her to stay, but the minute the thought crossed her mind, she knew Miranda would never ask.

Sure enough, Miranda nodded and made her way upstairs in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Andrea was busier than ever at _Runway_. Because of Emily’s cast, she wasn’t able to run a lot of the errands she normally would, which meant Andrea was running all over town. She was grateful she chose her Tory Burch wedges to wear today—at least she was able to retain some feeling in her toes.

That evening, when everything was wrapped up, she packed up and headed for the subway. There was no need to deliver the Book tonight since Nigel was still at the office working on it, and there wasn’t any dry-cleaning either. While it meant a shorter commute home, it didn’t feel right going straight home from the office.

Once she was above ground, she noticed she had a missed call on her phone from Miranda’s house and she began to panic. Rule number one was to never let Miranda’s calls go to voicemail—and Andrea would hate to think what a voicemail from Miranda Priestly would sound like. She quickly called the number back and crossed the street, preparing to hail a cab to the townhouse.

“Hi, Andy?”

“Heyyy,” she said cautiously. “Did your mom call me?”

“No. It was me. Mom ran out of the house a while ago and didn’t say where she was going.”

“Is anyone there with you now? Kim or Stephen’s mom?”

“Just Caroline.”

Andrea took a deep breath and flagged a passing taxi. “Okay, I’m on my way over now. Make sure the doors are locked. Do not open the door for anyone, do you understand? I have a key and will let myself in.”

“Okay,” she said. She covered the mouthpiece and told Caroline to check that the doors were locked. “Do you think we can order a pizza tonight?”

Andrea’s eyes widened as she checked the time—8:42 PM. “Sure, that sounds like a good idea,” she said. She tried to stay calm and didn’t want them to hear how concerned she was that Miranda just left without even giving them dinner. “Ok I have to make a call, so I need to hang up, okay? I’ll be over in less than ten minutes, so why don’t you figure out exactly what you want on your pizzas and where you want it from, okay?”

“Okay, see ya,” Cassidy said.

Andrea immediately dialed James’ cell phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi James, it’s Andy, Miranda’s assistant.”

“Oh, hi. Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Your daughters just called me and informed me that Miranda ran out of the house a few hours ago and they’re by themselves. I’m on my way there now. I’ll make sure they have something to eat, and I’ll stay as long as needed, but—”

“God dammit,” he muttered. “I’ll be over there in an hour, and I’ll stay with them.”

“Oh, okay. Did you want me to pack them up so they can come to your place?”

“No. I really don’t have the room for them, I’ll just stay with them at the townhouse. Thank you for calling. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Of course.”

Andrea took another deep breath. Next call: Miranda.

Of course, the call went to voicemail. She tried a few more times, but it was clear that she had her phone on silent, tucked away somewhere—if she even had it with her at all. Andrea sent a quick text message: _M, Your daughters are concerned—please let us know you’re okay. -A_

After she sent that note, she remembered that she had Stephen’s sister’s number, and sent Kim a message: _Hi Kim, It’s Andy. Is Stephen okay? Is Miranda at the hospital with you?_

As she was walking up the stairs to the townhouse, she received two text messages, back-to-back.

Kim: _His pressure spiked and they had to take him back for surgery to drain the fluid—he’s recovering now. Yes, Miranda is here._

Miranda: _At the hospital. -M_

Andrea breathed a sigh of relief. She figured that was where Miranda went, but needed to be sure. She quickly replied to Kim’s message, then headed into the townhouse. If Miranda felt she needed to be at Stephen’s bedside, she didn’t want to make her feel guilty by bringing up the situation with her daughters. Instead, she would just handle it.

An hour later, James arrived as Andrea was helping the girls with their math homework their teacher had emailed them. She was very understanding about her students’ need to take time off for various reasons, but because of the cumulative nature of mathematical concepts at this level, she was adamant about her students staying on track.

“Dad? What are you doing here?” Cassidy asked.

James looked over at Andrea, and she gently shook her head. “I, uh, thought you girls could use some company tonight. I’m going to stay over here, if that’s okay with you,” he said.

Cassidy’s eyes darted from his garment bag over to Andrea. “Isn’t Mom coming home?” she asked.

“Sweetie,” Andrea said, wrapping her arm around Cassidy’s shoulders, “Stephen needed another surgery, so your mom went to the hospital to be with him. He’s okay, now, but I think your mom was a little scared—but, of course, you know she’d never admit that,” she said with a smile.

Cassidy smiled and hugged Andrea back.

“Did Mom ask you to come stay with us?” Caroline asked James.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “She didn’t want to worry you. I would have been here sooner, but I got tied up at work. I’m sorry.”

Caroline shrugged. “It’s okay. At least Andy was here.”

“Girls, why don’t you go up and get ready for bed, I think we’ve had enough _Fractions, Decimals, & Percents_ for one night, huh? If you want, I can come back tomorrow after work and we can go through that practice test,” Andrea said.

“Highest score gets ice cream?” Cassidy asked.

“Hmm, how about highest score gets to pick which type of cookies we’ll make?”

“Yes!” they shouted in unison.

“Okay, girls, up to bed,” James said. “I’ll be up to tuck you in after I say goodnight to Andy.”

As the girls headed up to their rooms, James took a seat at the kitchen table. “Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered. “What the hell is she thinking?”

Andrea shrugged her shoulders as she straightened up the girls’ books and notebooks. “I don’t quite understand why, but she’s taking everything with Stephen pretty hard. I never knew they were even that close,” Andrea said. “But, it’s not my place. I apologize. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to return tomorrow evening to spend some time with the girls,” she said.

James waved his hand in the air. “That’s fine. You’re good with them.”

“I feel like someone should thank you for what you said to them earlier—about Miranda calling you and you not coming sooner because of work.”

James tilted his head and looked Andrea in the eye as a smirk formed on his lips. “You don’t have to make excuses for my ex-wife, you know. I said what I did for the girls’ sake. They have her up on a fucking pedestal. Hell if I’m going to be the one to knock her down. I don’t think any of us would survive that.”

“No,” Andrea said, “you’re probably right.”

“They’ve been friends for almost thirty years, you know. She met him right after she graduated high school. She was working at some dress shop in Brooklyn, trying to save up money to pay for her university classes, and Stephen came in one day to buy his mother a hat. He was studying for his law school entrance exam, and the rest was history. Love at first sight, you know, all that,” James said, shaking his head.

“Oh. Um, really?”

“Ha! No. Not at all, but when Miranda tells it, that’s how it goes. They met in that dress shop, and Stephen certainly pursued her for years, but then she took a job at _Harper’s_ , and we married. A few years after the girls were born, she ran into him at some silent auction and they reconnected.”

Andrea was shocked to be learning so many personal details about Miranda. “So, are you saying that she doesn’t love him?”

“No,” he said after thinking about the question for a minute. “I think she does. They’ve known each other for so long, I think it’s more about comfort and security than anything romantic, but what do I know. She’s always turned a blind eye to his other hobbies, and in return, he’s put up with her _Runway_ _stuff_.” He practically spit out that last word.

“What other hobbies does Stephen have?” Andrea asked. She couldn’t really picture him working on model trains or playing an instrument, and she knew from conversations with the girls that grilling burgers was about the extent of his skills in the kitchen.

James turned and looked at her. “You don’t know, do you? You haven’t got a fucking clue,” he said.

Andrea bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I should be going,” she said, standing from the table.

“He’s a _fruit_. She thought she would change him, but that turned into her living in her own perfect fucking fantasy world.”

“I had no idea,” Andrea said.

“Leslee has been working her ass off trying to keep certain details from leaking.”

“Do the girls—”

“No. God, no.”

“Look, I should probably go,” Andrea said. “Is there anything else you need?”

James shook his head. “I’ll call you a cab,” he said, getting up. “And this should go without saying, but our conversation doesn’t leave this room.”

“Of course. Um, Cara should be here tomorrow morning at 7—do you need to be at work earlier than that?” Andrea asked while she watched out the window, waiting for her cab.

“No. I’ve arranged to telecommute for the next few days. If I know the girls, they’ll be upset tonight. Always happens when she leaves them.”

“Okay. Well, you have my number. I’ll be at _Runway_ tomorrow, and unless I hear otherwise, I’ll plan on stopping by on my way home,” she said.

James nodded. When the taxi pulled up, he opened the door and watched her head down the steps. “Andy?”

She stopped and turned around.

“You’re going to see her?”

Andrea nodded.

“Good,” he said. With a wave, he stepped back inside and shut the door.

* * *

Andrea peered through the tiny window in the door. Miranda was alone in the room, sitting, slumped in a chair at his bedside. Andrea shifted the scalding hot tea to her other hand and softly opened the door. She walked over and sat in the chair next to Miranda.

“It’s ginger green tea,” she whispered, handing the small cup over.

Miranda took it and took a few sips without saying a word. 

When the tea was finished, she set the cup on the bedside table. “I had Roy take Kim and Charlotte back to the townhouse,” she said. “They just left a few minutes ago.”

“Why don’t you lie down and get some rest?” Andrea said, gesturing at the futon alongside the wall.

“I can’t. When I close my eyes…” her voice trailed off and she shivered and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

Andrea unwrapped the pashmina from around her neck and draped it over Miranda’s shoulders. “Come sit with me,” she said, standing and leading her to the futon. She took a seat, and the minute Miranda sat down, she started to cry. Andrea gently traced her hand in circles along the woman’s back, guiding her until she was laying with her head in her lap. “It’s okay,” Andrea whispered. “You’re safe. Close your eyes and focus on your breathing—in and out. Nice and slow.” Once it was clear that the editor had fallen asleep, Andrea carefully silenced her phone and closed her own eyes.

A few hours later, Andrea woke. Miranda was still sleeping. A faint cough came from the other side of the room, and when she looked up, she was shocked to see that Stephen was awake. One of his eyes was still swollen shut, but he lifted his hand in a weak wave.

“Miranda,” Andrea whispered, gently rousing the woman from her sleep. “Miranda, wake up.

She opened her eyes and sat up, still a little groggy and confused about her surroundings. When Andrea smiled and pointed to the other side of the room, Miranda gasped.

“Stephen!” she said, rushing over to his bed, completely forgetting about the brunette. She took his hand and softly brushed his cheek.

He brought her hand to his lips. “Mira,” he whispered.

“Shh, don’t try to talk yet,” she said as she pressed the call button for the nurse. “We’ll see if we can get you some water or ice chips. My god, I thought I’d never talk to you again,” she said as they waited for the nurse.

Andrea gathered her things and stepped out into the hallway. She told the nurse that Stephen was awake, then headed downstairs to grab a taxi home

“Where? Aren’t you—Paris?” he asked with a hoarse whisper.

She smiled as she brought his hand up to her lips. “You’re in the hospital. You were hit in the head and they had to do surgery,” she said. “I left Paris when I found out you were hurt. You’ve been unconscious for several days.”

The nurse came in and checked his vitals and intracranial pressure, then returned with something for to help moisten his lips and tongue. Miranda sat on the edge of the bed and carefully fed him ice chips with a plastic spoon.

He slowly licked his lips and pushed away the ice for a moment. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday—about three in the morning.”

“That assistant,” he said, “she cares about you.”

Miranda tilted her head. “Andrea?” She quickly glanced over to see if she was still there, then realized she must have gone home.

Stephen nodded.

“I suppose she does,” Miranda said. She set the mauve plastic ice pitcher on the table and picked up Stephen’s hand. “Oh, gosh, I need to call your sister!” she said.

“Is my—mom—here, too?” he asked.

Miranda rolled her eyes and nodded. “And they’re both staying at the townhouse—can you believe it?”

Stephen smiled.

“They were both very worried about you,” she said, seriously, as she dialed Kim’s cell phone.

Another nurse came in to change some of Stephen’s bandages, and Miranda took the opportunity to step into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. For once, she was glad she decided to forego her makeup. The puffiness was bad enough, and she certainly didn’t need the telltale shadow of running eye makeup.

When she returned to the bedside, Stephen was laying with his eyes closed. She again sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. “I’m so sorry that this happened,” she whispered. “Are you in much pain?”

He smiled and tugged her closer. “Nurse gave me morphine,” he said. “Come up here.”

She carefully moved a few of the wires and IVs and curled up next to him, her head gently resting on his upper chest. “Is this okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, resting his hand on her hip. He brought his other hand up and traced along her cheek. “If I would have known—that a brain injury—would make you so—amenable, then—”

Miranda quickly reached up and pressed the pads of her fingers to his swollen lips. “Stephen Edward Tomlinson, don’t you dare speak another foolish word,” she hissed. Something about her venom wasn’t quite the same, though.

“I love you, Mira,” he whispered.

“Don’t leave me again,” she said.


	4. Chapter 4

Later that afternoon when Kim and Charlotte stepped out to get lunch, Miranda once again curled up alongside him.

“I’ve missed this,” he said.

“I know.” She couldn’t exactly remember the when or why, but it had been at least six months since the night she kicked him out of their bed.

“The girls were asking about you,” she said, intent on changing the subject. “They wanted me to tell you that you owed them hamburgers or something.”

“So that means—Jess was voted off?”

Miranda sat up and looked him in the eyes. “You know I don’t follow those shows. I told them that they could come visit you once you’re out of intensive care—and once some of the swelling goes down,” she said.

“Does it look—bad?”

“No, no, no, darling,” she said, gently stroking his cheek. “Just a little painful, and I don’t want them to see that. Although, I suppose we can finally cut your hair,” she added.

He nodded. “Mira, kiss me.”

Miranda pressed her lips to his knuckles, then sat up and pressed a gentle kiss to his bandaged forehead.

“Aww—come on,” he said. “I almost died. Can’t—can’t I get a little tongue?”

“Bastard,” Miranda muttered as she rolled her eyes. She softly pressed a kiss to his cheek, then gently kissed his lips. He slipped his tongue out, surprising her, and for a few minutes they shared a gentle, quiet kiss.

“Look!” Charlotte shrieked as they entered the room. “She’s already in his bed!”

“Mom, cut it out!” Kim said.

Miranda carefully climbed out of Stephen’s embrace and stood next to the bed.

“Stephen, sweetie, she didn’t hurt you, did she?” Charlotte asked, rushing to his bedside. “Kimmy and I were here the minute we got the call.”

“No, Mom—don’t talk about her like that—she’s my wife and she belongs in my bed,” he said. “Can you just pretend to get along for my sake?” He took a few strained breaths and closed his eyes.

Miranda quickly reached for his pain pump and pressed the control into his hand. He pressed the button several times. Within thirty seconds, she saw his shoulders relax into the mattress. She took the pump from his hand and replaced it with her own hand.

“You’ve had a busy morning, darling. Close your eyes and get some rest,” she said.

“What, you’ve got to keep him medicated, now?” Charlotte snapped.

Miranda let go of Stephen’s hand and marched over to where Charlotte was sitting on the futon. “Listen,” she hissed. “Stephen is my husband and my best friend. I don’t make a habit of explaining myself, but you know that I would never wish any harm on him or willingly cause him any pain. I’ve tolerated your presence here and in my home for the past week out of the kindness of my heart. Now that your son is off the ventilator, I think you need to hold your tongue or just pack your things and go.”

“He’s my son and I have every right to be in this room,” Charlotte said.

“Need I remind you that, as his wife, I am his legal healthcare proxy, not you. One more word and I will call security,” she said. “Stephen needs his rest.”

“Look, Mom, why don’t we step out for a while and let Stephen sleep?” Kim said.

Charlotte shook her head and marched out of the room.

“Miranda, I’m sorry. You know I can’t control her. Thank you for letting us stay with you, but I think we’ll move into a hotel for the night. I have to go back to work Thursday, so I’m going to look for a flight back tomorrow. Again, I’m so sorry,” she said. She reached out and pulled Miranda into a tight hug.

That night, Miranda stayed at the hospital with Stephen while James stayed at the townhouse with the girls. As he expected, they weren’t able to sleep, so they all cuddled together in Miranda’s giant bed.

The following day, when Kim and Charlotte came by to see Stephen before returning to Dallas, Miranda made sure she was curled up alongside him.

Charlotte knew she couldn’t say anything, so she walked around the other side to hug and kiss her son.

Kim came over and kissed her big brother. “This one here is a real bitch, isn’t she?” she teased. She kissed Miranda on the cheek. “Take care of my big brother, Miranda. I love you both.”

“Text me when you land, Kimberly,” Miranda said.

“Will do. See ya!”

Miranda sighed and closed her eyes, gently tracing abstract patterns across the hospital gown covering Stephen’s chest. “I hate seeing you connected to all these machines,” she said.

“But I love seeing you take care of me like this,” he said with a smirk. “Watching your ass when you walk over to refill my water—” He let out a low whistle.

Miranda smiled. “You just keep—” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t make a joke right now.”

“It’s okay. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, and I don’t think anything you could say right now would upset me,” he said.

“Wow, now I know you’ve been hitting the pain pump,” she said.

“I’m serious. You’ve never seen how beautiful you are—you’re exquisite, gorgeous…perfection.”

At least she had the decency to blush and accept the compliment for what it was.

“Mira, why don’t you go home tonight?” Stephen asked.

“What? No. I want to be here.”

“When was the last time you saw the girls?”

“It’s fine—they’re fine.”

“Are they? Who’s home with them now?” he pushed.

“Cara? Or James? No matter.”

“Miranda, listen to me. Those girls love you more than anything in the world, and I know you love them, too. They need you. I’m sure they miss you.”

“They know I’m here with you,” she said.

“Please. Mira, I almost died, and—”

“But you didn’t, Stephen. You didn’t.”

“You’re right. I didn’t. But now I’m making sure that I don’t have any regrets. I got a second chance, Miranda. You might not be so lucky,” he said.

She didn’t respond, but he could tell from her breathing pattern that she was crying on his chest.

“Mira, I know our marriage hasn’t been the best, and that we’ve spent the past year fighting more than, well, anything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through, what I’ve asked of you, how complicated I’ve made our lives…” He gently stroked Miranda’s back. “The past two days—I’ve loved it, just laying here with you, loving each other. Of course, I’m on my death bed, but—”

“Shut up,” Miranda said. “Don’t be foolish.”

“Okay, okay. But I was making a point, Mira. You don’t realize what you’ve got until it’s gone—or almost gone, in my case. Your girls need you—they need their mother. Do something before it’s too late.”

“Fine, I’ll go home for a few hours tonight. Happy?”

“No. Don’t you get it? A few hours is just that—a few hours. They need to see you at dinner, talk to you before ether go to bed, ask you questions about their homework assignments, proudly show you their test scores…Miranda, I don’t know how else to say it. I know you love them, but money doesn’t take the place of affection. Don’t shut them out.”

Miranda sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. “You make it sound like I won’t touch my daughters or something. I hug them, all the time. They know I love them.”

“Yeah, and we used to hug and kiss all the time, too. But how different has it been, just laying here together?”

“So you’re telling me I need to lay in bed with my girls?”

“Sure, why not? Let them sleep with you, or climb into your bed to watch a movie. Bake cookies with them, smile and laugh with them for pete’s sake,” Stephen said. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Push it—a few times.”

Miranda pressed the pain pump, sending another dose of morphine surging through his veins. She sighed as she watched him drift off into a drug-induced sleep. She gently kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “I’ll be back in a little while. I’m going home to shower and get some fresh clothes. Sleep well.” She stood from the bed and sent a quick text to Roy to pick her up.


	5. Chapter 5

It was half past ten by the time Miranda walked through the front door. The townhouse was quiet, and she was grateful that someone left the kitchen light on, even if by accident. On the table in the foyer, she saw a folder with a post-it and her name on it. She carried it with her into the kitchen, where she made herself a cup of tea.

Inside the folder was a note—from Andrea, she recognized the handwriting.

> _Miranda—_
> 
> _When you have a moment, here are a few emails I’ve selected that I think require a personal reply._
> 
> _-A_

Miranda took a deep breath and read through the first one while she sipped her tea. It was a note from Irv. While he did wish Stephen a speedy recovery, he expressed concern about the upcoming issue of _Runway_ and asked when she would be returning. Miranda glanced around the kitchen and picked up a pen from one of the girls’ pencil cases to write a reply—in a neon pink pen, no less: _Irv— Thank you for the well wishes. As for the magazine, I trust Nigel and the team completely, and so should you. Once Stephen is released from ICU, I may be available for consult, but I will not be returning until he is home, which may very well be sometime in January. MP_

She affixed a new post-it to the envelope and wrote “Andrea” on it. The other emails were between Nigel and some up-and-coming designers who were demanding to meet with Miranda. At the bottom, she scribbled another note: _If they want to be featured in_ Runway _, they will work with Nigel. Feel free to reply from my email account if necessary. MP_

Sighing, she placed her empty teacup in the sink and replaced the folder on the table in the foyer. Then, she headed upstairs to check and see if her daughters were home or if they were staying with their father. Curiously, there seemed to be a light on in her bedroom. She cracked the door open and couldn’t help but smile when she saw James and the girls fast asleep, their faces illuminated by the glow from the television. James must have been watching SportsCenter on mute with closed captioning after the girls fell asleep.

Miranda turned off the television and turned on a dim lamp on the far side of the room.

“Miranda?” James whispered.

She turned around and he carefully crawled out of bed, trying not to disturb the girls. He was wearing a white undershirt and a pair of well-worn NY Knicks sweatpants.

“I didn’t know you’d be home—and the guest rooms were taken—I just… How is he? I heard he’s awake?” James stammered.

“Yes. He’s still in a lot of pain, but he’s awake—alive. I’m going back in the morning. I want to be there when he wakes up to help him with breakfast,” she said. “I just need a quick shower.”

“I’ll take my things and head to the guest room.”

“No,” she said, reaching out for his arm and stopping him. “It’s fine,” she said.

The hot shower felt good, and if she wasn’t so exhausted, she would have stayed in there longer. After towel-drying her hair, she put on a cotton camisole and silk pajama pants, then crawled into bed next to Cassidy. “My angels,” she whispered.

Cassidy opened her eyes. “Mom?”

“Hi sweetheart,” she said, kissing her on the cheek. “Go back to sleep.”

“Is Stephen okay?”

“He’s doing a little better. I have to go back to the hospital in the morning, so let’s try to get some sleep, okay?”

Cassidy nodded and curled up against Miranda’s side. “Love you,” she said.

“I love you too, baby.”

* * *

The next morning, two detectives from the police department showed up to take Stephen’s statement. Miranda asked him if he felt up to it, and he reassured her that he did.

“Mrs. Tomlinson, you may want to step out of the room for this,” the detective cautioned.

“Please,” she said. “Miranda. And I’ve already read the preliminary police report.” She took a seat in the chair next to the bed and gentle rested her hand on his arm. “Darling, if you need to take a break, it’s okay. Just let us know,” she said.

“Can you tell us your whereabouts Wednesday evening, just before the incident?”

“I was at Ty’s in the West Village. I had a drink, then some guy bought me another one. It was crowded, so we decided to step outside.”

“Where did you go from there?”

“Not far,” Stephen said. “We just walked down to the alley between buildings. We started fooling around, and that’s when they showed up.”

“If possible, can you be more specific. Do you recall where you were standing, or what direction they came from?”

He took a deep breath. “My back was against the east side of the building. I had my eyes closed, so I don’t know what direction they came from. They could have been in the alley before we got there for all I know.”

“What about the guy you left the bar with? Where was he?”

“Please—” Miranda interrupted. “Is this really necessary?”

“Mira, I’m sorry,” he said.

She squeezed his hand and nodded for him to continue.

“He was kneeling, facing me. He wouldn’t have been able to see anything,” Stephen said.

“Does this other man have a name?” the detective asked.

“No—I mean, I don’t know his name. I’ve seen him around Ty’s before, so the staff may know him.”

“Okay. Can you tell us what happened when you were attacked? And as your wife said, if you need a break, just let us know.”

“Thanks. Okay,” he said with a deep breath. “I was, um, my eyes were closed. I could hear the music from the clubs, and then all of a sudden, I was punched in the stomach. I tried to run out of the alley, but there were at least three men blocking my exit.”

“Do you remember anything about them? What they looked like, what they were wearing? Tattoos? Did they say anything?”

“I think only one of them spoke. The others were like his backup singers or something.”

Miranda humphed at that and rolled her eyes.

“They were all wearing jackets and stocking hats, but I know it’s December and that’s not helpful. I think the main one was wearing some sort of canvas utility-looking jacket. He had a mustache. He looked like he may have been Latino, but I can’t say. It was dark, and I didn’t get a good look.”

“Okay, that’s good. Did they say anything to you?”

“When I tried to offer them my wallet, the main one said, ‘We don’t want your money, _fag._ ’ I tried to hit him and run the other way, but he grabbed my wrist and pinned me against the wall. That’s when he bound my wrists with duct tape.”

“Then what happened?”

“He—or someone—threw me to the ground. I couldn’t really get up with my hands tied. I begged them to let me go. I was screaming, hoping someone walking by would hear me. Then they kicked me in the stomach and told me to shut up, and taped the gag in my mouth,” he said. “I started kicking my legs, and they held me down and taped my ankles. Then they pulled my pants down and put something metal—it was cold—up my ass.”

“That would fit with the gunshot residue forensics identified—”

Miranda gasped and ran to the bathroom barely able to contain her retching.

“Can you give us a minute?” Stephen asked. They nodded and stepped out of the room. Once Miranda returned, she turned to Stephen and took his hand. “Darling, I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine how hard this is for you,” she said, kissing his hand.

“I just want them to catch these bastards,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, that was just a little more than I was prepared for. Do you remember a gun?”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I never saw it if they had it. Jesus Christ,” he said as tears started to fall from his eyes.

“I know, I know,” she said, gently hugging him and resting her head on his shoulder. “But you’re alive, and you’re awake, and they’re going to catch them,” she said.

A few minutes later the detectives returned. “A few more questions and we’ll be on our way,” he said. When Miranda nodded, he continued. “Do you remember anything after  that?”

“Just that it seemed to go on forever. Then everything went black,” he said. “Some vague voices and lights here and there, but next thing I remember was talking to a nurse or something in the ER, and then here.”

“Okay, thank you. Please call us if you think of anything else that might be of use. I know the preliminary report indicated that you were struck with a brick, but further investigation of the scene seems to suggest that you were thrown and your head landed on the brick. Regardless, we have enough to prosecute if we can track them down. We have other officers and detectives canvassing the area, and everyone has been very helpful. We all want to put these guys away.”

“Thank you,” Stephen said.

“Yes, thank you. We’ll call if we think of anything else,” Miranda said.

As the detectives walked out, a nurse came in with Stephen’s lunch tray and quickly checked his vitals.

“Would you like a bite to eat?” Miranda asked. “Vanilla pudding?”

“No,” he said. “I—I think I need—to close my eyes.”

“Stephen? Are you okay?”

“Yes, come lay with me. I’m just tired.”

“Maybe we should have the doctor come check on you first,” she said.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, pressing the button on the pain pump. “Come here, beautiful.”

Miranda crawled next to him and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek before laying her head on his shoulder.

About ten minutes later, she awoke to the sound of a bell on one of the monitors. She carefully climbed off the bed and called the nurse in. A quick glance at his vitals and she picked up her phone. “Page Dr. Grant and get the OR ready _now!_ ” she said. “His ICP’s skyrocketing.”

“Wait, wait, what’s going on?” Miranda asked as the nurse unlocked the wheels on the cart and began to push Stephen out of the room. “Where are you taking him? What’s happening?”

“Ma’am, there’s too much pressure on his brain. He needs surgery immediately,” she said.

By now, a few nurses were helping her push Stephen to the operating room and Miranda struggled to keep the pace. Another nurse gently led her into a small waiting room. “Why don’t you wait here,” she said. “It will be at least an hour until he’s out of surgery. Can I get you anything?”

Miranda shook her head. “How will they know to find me—to tell me how he is?”

“They’ll come find you or call that phone right there,” she said, pointing to a phone on the wall.

Miranda nodded and sat on the chair, staring at the muted television on the opposite wall.

Once the nurse was back at the desk, she pulled a post-it off the bulletin board and dialed the number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Andy? It’s Sarah from Presbyterian. You left us your number for Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Yes, yes. What’s wrong?” Andrea asked. She was in the town car on her way to Ralph Lauren for a pickup, but she quickly told Roy to head to the hospital.

“Well, Mr. Tomlinson was just rushed into surgery again. I can’t give you any more information—and honestly I probably shouldn’t have told you that. But, his wife, she’s…”

“I’m on my way. Don’t tell her you called me.”

“Of course not. She’s in the third floor surgical waiting room, the private room in the north corner. I’ll try to keep an eye out for you.”

“Thank you.”

Andrea practically sprinted up the stairs to the third floor, and headed towards the waiting room. Sarah found her and led her towards the private waiting area. Miranda looked up and locked eyes with the brunette.

For the first time, Andrea thought her eyes appeared grey—colorless, emotionless. She wasn’t angry or annoyed at her presence, but she wasn’t grateful, either. She was, well, nothing. So, Andrea walked over and sat next to her, laying her coat on an empty chair.

“What—why?”

Andrea looked her in the eye. “Because.” She tried her hardest to say the rest with her eyes.

Miranda swallowed and pursed her lips as if she was going to speak, but when she opened her mouth, the only thing that came out was a cry. She reached out for Andrea’s hands as tears began to fall.

Some unknown amount of time later, a man wearing blue scrubs appeared and sat in the chair across from Miranda.

“Mrs. Tomlinson?”

“Miranda,” she corrected. “How is he?” Andrea felt her grip tighten.

“Well, Miranda. I’m Dr. Pierce and I was the neurosurgeon who performed the ventriculostomy on Stephen last week. We were able to drain a significant amount of fluid, and as you know, it was successful and even brought him into consciousness. Today, the pressure was building very quickly and our only option was a decompressive crainectomy. We removed a portion—two portions, in fact, of his skull to allow the brain the space it needs to expand.”

“How is he?” Miranda repeated.

“He is resting and under the watch of our postoperative intensive care staff. He is in a very fragile state right now. His brain endured a traumatic injury, and three brain surgeries in ten days is a lot for anyone to handle.”

“Will he wake up when anesthesia wears off?” Miranda asked.

“I can’t say. The human brain is a remarkable organ. When it needs rest, it will shut and run on its backup generator, to make the analogy. I wouldn’t be surprised if Stephen’s brain needs a little bit more rest. Tomorrow we can run another EEG and get a clearer understanding.”

“Thank you, Dr. Pierce,” Miranda said. She let go of Andrea’s hand to shake the surgeon’s hand.

“Of course. Page me if you have any questions. One of the nurses will come find you when Stephen is ready to return to his room.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Miranda, can I bring you something to eat?” Andrea asked.

“Coffee,” she said. She was again seated in the chair at Stephen’s bedside, gently stroking the back of his hand.

“It’s late—don’t you want to go home and get some sleep?” Andrea asked. It was nearly midnight.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Right, coffee it is,” she said, heading out of the room.

Miranda’s phone buzzed with a text message from Kim asking if there was any change. She quickly replied, and stood from the chair. “I’ll be right back, darling,” she whispered, softly kissing his cheek near the ear that was not bandaged.

While she was in the bathroom, she heard a commotion in the room and quickly rinsed her hands. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Miranda,” Dr. Pierce said, trying to lead her over to the sofa.

“No, no,” she said, pushing past him. “Tell me what’s going on! Stephen! Stephen!” she cried, reaching for his arm.

“The EEG confirms that Stephen’s brain herniated,” Dr. Pierce said, gesturing for the nurses to step away from the hospital bed. “It happened almost instantaneously. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” she cried, climbing up onto the bed.

Dr. Pierce gently took her shoulders and pulled her away.

“Get your hands off of me!” she screamed, twisting out of his grip. She stood next to the bed and gently traced his cheek. “Why aren’t you people doing anything??”

“Miranda,” he said, reaching out for her arm again as Andrea rushed into the room.

She quickly took in the situation and set the tray of coffee on the hospital bed as she walked up behind Miranda and wrapped her arms around her. “Miranda, let’s wait outside,” Andrea said, pulling her away and turning her away from Stephen’s lifeless body.

“No, no—I can’t—he—he—” she broke down in Andrea’s arms as the young woman led her out of the room.

“Miranda, I’m so sorry,” Andrea said quietly as she held the broken woman. She led them to a small couch in a nearby waiting room.

“This—this can’t be happening. It’s not real. Tell me it’s not real,” she cried. “Tell me!”

“Miranda,” she said, picking the woman up and looking her square in the eyes. “Stephen’s dead. He’s gone.”

She closed her eyes and buried her face in the younger woman’s neck.

“Tell me what I can do for you,” Andrea whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of the woman’s head.

“I don’t know. I—do I have to sign something or—?”

“No, the hospital will handle everything. Once arrangements are made, the funeral home will take care of everything else,” Andrea said.

“We need to call Kim,” she said.

“Do you want me to step out for a moment?”

Miranda shook her head and reached for her phone in her back pocket.

“Hello, Miranda? What’s wrong?”

“I—I’m sorry. I—he—he’s gone,” she said.

Kim gasped and started crying. “I can’t believe it. Oh god, I’m so sorry, Miranda. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now.”

“Kim, I…I can’t.”

“Wait, what about the services?”

Miranda handed the phone over to Andrea as she buried her head in her hands. “Hi Kim, it’s Andy. I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Thank you. My mother wants him buried here on the ranch,” she said. “Most of his friends are from New York, though, so maybe we could have a service there before bringing him home?”

“I think that sounds perfect,” Andrea said. “Would you like me to email you a list of venues and contact information?”

“Yes, please. But—tomorrow is fine, Andy. I think Miranda needs you now.”

Andrea glanced over at the sobbing woman next to her. “Yes, I think so, too.”

“Wait—one more thing. Was—was he alone? When he died?”

“Miranda was with him. She stepped away to use the bathroom, and then…” Andrea’s voice trailed off as the image of Miranda screaming and clinging to her husband’s corpse flashed before her eyes.

“Oh, honey, I’m sure she’s beating herself up over that. There’s nothing she could have done,” Kim said. “I’m glad she was with him.”

“I’ll let her know,” Andrea said. “Again, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, Andy,” she said, hanging up the phone.

Andrea set the phone on the chair and gently rubbed circles on the older woman’s back. “Are you ready to go?” she asked quietly.

Miranda nodded. “Wait, my bag…and coat.”

“They’re right here,” she said, gently draping the jacket over her shoulders. “The nurse brought them by earlier.”

Miranda took a deep breath and stood, clutching her coat tightly around her shoulders as she let Andrea lead her down to the car where Roy was waiting.

When they arrived at the townhouse, Miranda reached over and set her hand on top of Andrea’s. “I’m glad you were with me,” she said quietly. “I need to—to go in there alone.”

“Are you sure?” Andrea said.

Miranda nodded. “I’m sure. We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said.

“Okay. Again, I’m really sorry, Miranda.”

Andrea watched as she walked up the stairs into the townhouse. Once the door was shut, she nodded for Roy to drive her home.

Miranda slowly climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Being back in the townhouse with so many reminders of him—it was too much for her. The girls couldn’t see her like this, though. She locked the bedroom door behind her as she slid down to the ground, sobs taking over her body.

“Miranda?” James said, turning the bedside lamp on. “Miranda, what’s wrong?” he asked, rushing towards her.

“He’s dead— _deaad!_ ” she cried.

“Come on, Mir, let’s get off the floor,” James said, reaching for her arm.

“I can’t—”

James reached his arms around her and scooped her up, carrying her over to the bed and gently laying her down. “Shhh, it’s okay,” he said, trying to soothe her.

“It’s not—it’s not okay.”

“I know. I’m sorry. What can I do, Mir?” he asked, climbing onto the bed next to her.

“Nothing. Nothing,” she cried.

James laid there with her for another few hours until he needed to get up for work. He stepped out of the bedroom for a minute to call the office and let them know he wouldn’t be working—telecommuting or otherwise—today. The girls were awake, but he wasn’t ready to tell them yet. They were staying home from school again, and Cara was already downstairs with them.

When he returned to the bedroom, Miranda was tossing and turning, quietly moaning. “Hey,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Can I get you anything? Do you still keep valium around?”

“Yes,” she said, “bottom drawer.”

A few minutes later, James returned with a glass of water. She sat up enough to swallow the medication, then sank back into the pillow. “What am I going to do?” she asked quietly.

“You’re going to do what you’ve always done. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

“Don’t say that. I’m not.”

“Mir, do you want to take a shower or maybe a bath? It might help you relax.”

Miranda pushed herself up into a semi-sitting position and nodded. When she stood from the bed, it was as if her legs turned to jelly and she collapsed into James’ arms.

“Whoa,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. He held her for a few minutes until she could get her bearings, but instead she turned and crawled back onto the bed.

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll feel better once you get some rest,” he said. “Have you thought about how you want to tell the girls? Would it be alright if I told them?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “You can tell them.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t—don’t think about it. Let me take care of that,” he said. He pulled the quilt up over her and gently kissed her forehead. “I’m going to take a quick shower, then head down with the girls.”

* * *

When Andrea returned to her apartment, she took a long, hot shower. Her clothes had the distinct smell of hospital disinfectant and latex gloves, and sleep was the farthest thing from her mind. After drying her hair, she sat on her couch, wrapped in a towel, and called Nigel.

“Hello?”

“Hi Nigel.”

“Six? Good morning.”

“Sorry—I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Not at all. You know I’m up at dawn. Are you coming in today?”

“No. I, uh, spent the past thirty-six hours with Miranda. Last night…well, actually, this morning…um…Stephen…he died.”

“Oh god.”

“She was hysterical. I don’t think she will be back for another week or so.”

“Forget about work. I thought you said he was doing better?”

“He was. He was awake, and it was looking good, but the pressure just built up too quickly I guess. They had to do an emergency surgery, and he never woke up from it.”

“Was—was she with him when he—?”

“Eh, sort of. She got up to go to the bathroom and when she returned, he was gone.”

“You were there?”

“I stepped out to get her coffee. When I came back, they were trying to pull her off his body. I had to take her out of the room. God, I never want to watch someone go through that ever again,” Andrea said.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetie, but when did you two become so close? I mean, she just doesn’t go around trusting people.”

“No, I know. It’s a little surreal—I just try not to think about it,” she said. “Look, I’m going to try and get some sleep, then I need to go check on Miranda and the girls.”

“So you’re telling me you’re not only not coming into the office, but you’re flat-out not working,” Nigel said.

“Yes.”

“You know Emily still has her leg in a cast, right?”

“Nigel, I’m tired. Let it go, okay?”

“Sure. Get some sleep,” he said. “It feels backwards asking you this, but I’m going to anyway. Should I send Miranda a plant and give her a call, or am I not supposed to know.”

“Uh, I don’t think she’ll be up for talking today, and once this story is out, I’m sure there will be more than enough plants around. Let me call you back later—after I talk to her. She would probably appreciate a text message, though. She may not respond, but I know she’ll see it.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. Wait, one more thing. Is it true you’ve sent your portfolio to a few newspapers?”

“Umm…yes. Why, is that a problem?”

“No. Well, not for me. Don’t worry about it. Call me after you get some sleep.”

“Okay, talk to you later,” Andrea said, hanging up the phone.

* * *

“Dad, does this mean Stephen is up in heaven with Gram and Grandpa and Uncle Stanley?”

“Yes, that’s right,” James said, wrapping his arms around Cassidy and kissing her on the forehead. “He was hurt very badly when he was attacked, and now he’s in a better place, where he’s not in any pain.”

“So Mom has to be in pain?” Caroline said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “It’s not fair.”

“Honey, you’re right. It’s not fair, and yes, your mother is really upset. We have to do what we can to help her, okay? Even if it means giving her some time to herself.”

“So what should we say? Just give her lots and lots of hugs?” Cassidy asked.

“Hugs are good,” James said. “Just tell her what you feel. I know you’re going to miss Stephen, too. I only knew him a little, but I grateful that he was here and spending time with you two when I couldn’t be.”

“Can I go talk to Mom?” Caroline asked.

“She’s resting. She’s been awake for the past two days. She took some medication to help her relax so she could rest.”

“Fine.”

“Why don’t you girls go on upstairs and get dressed, and then we can go to the Museum of Natural History and see that new exhibit on the Titanic, okay?”

“Sure,” Cassidy said, heading towards the stairs. Caroline followed behind her without saying a word.

Once they were out of earshot of the kitchen, Caroline tugged on her sister’s hand. “Cass, are you sad about Stephen?”

“Yeah. I mean, he _died_.”

“I think something’s wrong with me,” Caroline said, sitting on the top step.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t feel anything,” she said with a shrug.

“Uh, you sounded pretty angry a few minutes ago,” Cassidy pointed out.

“Well it’s _not_ fair that Mom has to go through all this. It’s almost like I’m pissed at Stephen.”

“For…dying?”

“I guess? Maybe? That sounds so awful, though.” She sighed and peeked downstairs. “I want to go talk to Mom. Will you cover for me—you know, take a long time getting ready, leave the shower on?”

“Well I want to talk to her, too.”

“Please, Cass? Just give me five minutes. Please, Sis?”

Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Fine. Give her a hug from me,” she said, heading down the hall to her room.

Caroline carefully opened the door to her mom’s room and shut it quietly behind her. Miranda was curled up on the bed, but her eyes were open and she was staring off into space.

“Mom?” she said, approaching the side of the bed.

Miranda blinked a few times, then turned her focus to her daughter. “Care?”

“Mom…I love you.”

Miranda moved over and patted the mattress next to her and her daughter laid next to her. Miranda gently cupped Caroline’s cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, and her lips. “Baby, I love you, too,” she whispered as she wrapped her arm around the young girl and tugged her to her chest. “I love you, too,” she repeated, kissing the top of her head.

Caroline just laid there, hugging her mom for a while. She was pretty sure her mom was crying. When it seemed like she stopped, she whispered, “I’m sorry about Stephen.”

“I am, too,” Miranda said, again kissing the top of her head.

“I know you’re sad, Mom,” Caroline continued, “but it’s not fair. Dad said he had to go to heaven so he’s not in any more pain, but then you have to be here in pain? It’s not fair.”

“I know. It’s not,” she said, squeezing her daughter tightly. “I don’t understand it, either.” She reached up and began petting Caroline’s hair. “You, my darling daughter, are so much like me.”

“Does it make you feel better when I hug you like this?”

“Honestly? I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. I don’t think ‘better’ is the right word.”

“Are you going to sleep?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Just wondering. Dad is going to take us to the museum now, and I just thought maybe I could take a nap with you when we got home,” Caroline said.

“Sweetie, of course you can. Be good for your father today.” She kissed her on the top of the head and lifted her arms so she could get off the bed.

“Okay. Oh, wait, I almost forgot,” she said, bending down and hugging and kissing her again. “That was from Cass. She loves you, too.”

“Be good, Bobbsey,” Miranda said as her daughter left her bedroom. She turned onto her other side and once again started sobbing into the pillow.

Before they left for the museum, James crept back into Miranda’s room to check on her. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Honey, I’m going to take the girls out of the house for a few hours. Can I get you anything?”

Miranda shook her head.


	7. Chapter 7

Some time later, Andrea sat on her couch, debating whether to call Miranda. She sent a text message a few hours earlier—when she was emailing Kim options for the arrangements—but she didn’t receive a response. With a sudden surge of confidence, she threw on her coat and boots and headed for the subway.

“Hello? Girls? Cara?” she called, walking through the first floor. There was no response, so she headed up the stairs. Caroline and Cassidy’s rooms were empty, as was Miranda’s. The sheets were rumpled and there was a trail of clothes leading towards the bathroom, but there was no sign of Miranda. She made her way to the study and paused in the doorway. “Miranda?”

She was certain that Miranda would not have left the house, so she went up and checked the third and fourth floors. Still nothing. She headed back downstairs, stopping again in front of Miranda’s bedroom door. “Miranda?”

Andrea stepped inside and looked into the bathroom, then the closet, but still didn’t see the editor anywhere. She sighed deeply. “Where are you, Miranda?”

That’s when she saw it. If she wasn’t looking at that very second, she wouldn’t have seen it—she wouldn’t have seen the way the covers moved ever so slightly on the bed.

She slowly approached the bed and reached for the corner of the duvet, peeling it back until she saw the woman’s white hair. “Miranda,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

Miranda didn’t respond.

“Miranda?” she said, pulling the comforter away completely. She was surprised to find that the woman was wearing nothing but a bath towel. “Please—I need to know that you’re okay.”

Miranda slowly turned over. “I’m fine,” she said. Her voice was dry and raspy.

Andrea gently sat on the edge of the bed. “Let me bring you something to drink,” she said. Miranda closed her eyes and didn’t respond. Andrea looked over at the nightstand and saw a bottle of water and a glass. As she poured some water into the glass, she noticed prescription bottles of Valium and Ambien.

“Come on, you need to sit up and have something to drink,” Andrea said.

“I’m fine,” the woman repeated.

Andrea slowly nodded. “Okay. Okay, you’re fine,” she said. “I’ll leave you rest.” She tugged the duvet back up to cover her body, and then quietly walked away. She wasn’t sure what else to say, and if the prescription medication on her bedside table was any indicator, Miranda probably wouldn’t have much to say for a few hours, either. Still, Andrea didn’t feel right leaving her alone like this.

As she headed downstairs, she realized how hungry she was. In the past thirty-six hours, the only thing she actually ate was an oatmeal cookie from Starbucks—and even then, she couldn’t enjoy it because she scarfed it down as she was returning from a coffee run. Since there was apparently no one else around, Andrea made herself a grilled cheese sandwich. And Miranda’s fridge had the best cheese. Today she settled for aged cheddar and Asiago, with slices of avocado and tomato.

When she was finished, she sat at the table in silence, lost in her thoughts. Miranda was such a beautifully complicated woman, and as much as Andrea regretted the situation, she loved that she was allowed access to the real Miranda over the past few weeks.

Some time later, she was distracted from her thoughts by Caroline and Cassidy who were standing next to her. “Hey, guys,” she said.

“We didn’t think you were coming until later tonight after work,” Caroline said.

“Dad just took us to the Museum of Natural History,” Cassidy said.

For a second, Andrea thought maybe no one had told them about Stephen. Maybe James wanted to wait until Miranda was, well, until she could tell them herself. Oh god, what would she say if they asked her how he was?

“Andy?” Cassidy said. “Do you want to hear about the museum or no?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Is Cara around? If not, I can make you a snack or something.”

“We had lunch with dad. And ice cream, but don’t tell Mom. That’s the fourth time this week,” Cassidy whispered.

Andrea smiled and let Cassidy sit on her lap as she told her all about their trip to the museum. She listened intently, though she couldn’t help notice Caroline who seemed to be scribbling something in her notebook on the other side of the room. When she had the opportunity, she said, “Hey Cass, did you get a chance to finish your homework from yesterday? I’ll look it over for you.”

“Oh, sure, but I still have to finish the last problem,” she said, hopping off her lap and heading to the other end of the table to get her things.

“Hey Care,” Andrea said, sliding over to the next chair and gently resting her hand on the young girl’s shoulder. “Did you have fun at the museum too?”

“Eh, it was okay,” she said. “I’ve been there lots of times before.”

“I’ve only been to the history museum in Chicago and then the Smithsonian when we went to Washington D.C. in eighth grade.”

“We have something like that at Dalton I think. That’s not for like two more years.”

“What are you writing?” Andrea said, leaning closer.

“Nothing.” She snapped her notebook shut and crossed her arms across her chest.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Care. I wasn’t trying to be nosy.”

Caroline shrugged. “Stephen’s dead. Did you know that?”

Andrea’s eyes darted up to James who was sitting on the couch, watching television in the den. “I did know that,” she said carefully.

“Did Dad tell you?”

“No, sweetie, I was at the hospital with your mom late last night,” Andrea said.

Caroline looked up and met Andrea’s eyes for the first time that day. “Really?”

“Yeah. Was there something you wanted to ask me?”

Caroline’s eyes widened and she quickly shook her head.

“Can I ask you something, then?”

The young girl shrugged.

“Will you give me a hug?” Andrea asked.

Caroline nodded and hugged her tightly.

Andrea held her close for several minutes until she noticed Cassidy standing there next to them. “Okay,” she said, pulling away a little bit. “Group hug.” She reached her arm around and included Cassidy.

“I want to go upstairs with Mom,” Caroline said.

“Oh, you should probably let her rest a little bit.”

“No. I talked to her. She told me I could take a nap with her after we got back from the museum,” she said.

“Dad doesn’t know Caro went in her room,” Cassidy whispered.

“Okay,” Andrea said. “How about I go upstairs and just make sure she’s okay, then you can go in? Does that work?”

Caroline nodded.

“I want to go see Mom, too,” Cassidy said.

Andrea saw the reaction on Caroline’s face. “Actually, I think it would be better if you took turns. Caroline will go first, and then you can go later. That way your mom isn’t alone for too long. Is that a plan?”

Both girls nodded.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, heading upstairs. The first thing she did was take the prescription bottles from the nightstand.

“Wh—what are you doing?” she asked.

Andrea smiled and walked back towards the bed. “Caroline wants to come lay with you for a while, and I just wanted to put these away. I’m surprised you’re awake,” she said.

For a moment, Miranda thought back to Stephen’s words, how he told her to just lay in bed with her daughters. “Uh, I didn’t take anything—just one this morning. James left those there.”

“Oh,” Andrea said. “Uh, should I put them by the sink?”

Miranda nodded. “What time is it?”

“About two o’clock.”

“What day is it?”

Andrea paused. “Seriously? You’re sure you didn’t take anything?”

Miranda shook her head and sighed. When she closed her eyes, she didn’t know the difference between five minutes and five days. “Um,” she cleared her throat. “There are camisoles in the lower right drawer, and underwear just above it,” she said.

Andrea turned and looked at her, totally confused.

Miranda sighed. “Caroline likes to snuggle. I need more than this towel.”

“Oh, of course!” She nervously opened the drawers and selected a undergarments for the editor.

Miranda took the camisole from her and pulled herself to a sitting position, letting the bath towel fall as she slipped the camisole over her head.

Andrea was shocked at Miranda’s lack of modesty. Maybe she was just too used to being around models all day, or maybe it was the grief and she just wasn’t thinking clearly. Regardless, Andrea knew she wouldn’t get the image of Miranda’s breasts out of her mind for a long time.

“There’s a short silk robe hanging in the bathroom,” she said, indicating for the young woman to retrieve it for her. While she stepped away, Miranda stood, slipped on her underwear, and started straightening the sheets and duvet.

Andrea gasped when she stepped back into the bedroom.

“Oh please,” Miranda said, turning around and reaching for her robe. “Tell me I’m not the first half-naked old woman you’ve ever seen.”

Andrea turned her head away and held the robe out. “No, you’re not—you’re—”

“Wrinkled? Saggy?” Miranda supplied. She reached for a jar of cream at her bedside table and applied it to her face.

“No, _skinny_ ,” Andrea said. “Miranda, you’re so thin.”

She paused. “Yes, well, food hasn’t been my priority lately. I think the word you’re looking for would be _skeletal_.”

“No,” Andrea answered firmly. “You’re…beautiful.”

She shook her head and crawled back into bed, propping herself up on a few pillows. “Don’t try to mollify me. I know what I look like. Didn’t you say Caroline was coming?”

Andrea was grateful for the abrupt change in subject. “Yes. I know it’s not my place, but I don’t know how well Caroline is taking everything. She seems very closed off—angry, almost.”

“Like me?” Miranda asked.

Andrea’s lips curled up in a smile. “Exactly.”

“If you were anyone else, I would try and tell you that you don’t understand my baby girl, but I think we both know that would be a lie,” she said.

“How are _you_ doing, Miranda?”

“Don’t—” she said, holding her hand up. “Not right now. Caroline needs me to be—” her voice cracked. “She needs me.”

“Understood. Can I bring you anything else?”

She shook her head and sank back into the pillows.

“Mom?”

Miranda could hardly believe how fragile her daughter’s voice sounded. “Bobbsey, shut the door, then come over here,” she said.

Caroline obeyed and approached the bed, frowning as she looked down.

“What is it?” Miranda asked.

“I’m wearing jeans. You always say we can’t wear jeans in bed,” she said.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go slip on my yellow nightgown?”

“The silk one?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“That’s the one you like, isn’t it?” Miranda asked.

Caroline nodded eagerly.

“Go on,” she said, “it’s in the drawer over there.”

Her daughter quickly changed, and Miranda lifted the covers so she could crawl in bed next to her. She brushed her fingers through the strawberry-blonde tresses that were so much like her own when she was younger. “Do you want to talk about what you’re feeling, sweetheart?”

“Not really. Do you?” She snuggled closer to her mother’s side.

“No, not really, but I know it’s important to talk about our feelings. Let’s each say one emotion we’re feeling, and why. If I tell you how I’m feeling, will you share with me?” Miranda asked. Right now, she was not a grieving wife, but a mother. A mother whose daughter was struggling with loss and grief for—thankfully—the first time in her life.

“Will you go first?” she asked.

“Of course, darling,” she said, kissing her on the top of the head. “I’m feeling guilty.” She hugged Caroline tighter. “Stephen and I…these past few months…we didn’t talk much. We argued about meaningless things, and we lost sight of the friendship we shared. And now, I’m feeling guilty because…if we hadn’t been fighting…he would have…he would have been on a flight to meet me in Paris. He would have never been in the West Village.”

“So even though you know he died because of his brain injury, you’re feeling like it was your fault?” Caroline asked.

Miranda was fighting back her tears. She pressed another kiss to her daughter’s head and held her close.

“I’m feeling guilty, too,” Caroline said after a few minutes. “A few weeks ago—you were in Paris—I said something to him. It was mean and hurtful, and I know I shouldn’t have, but I was so angry.”

“Will you tell me what you said?” Miranda asked, kissing her temple.

“I told him he wasn’t my father and never would be, and basically said he couldn’t tell me what to do,” she said. “I’m sorry, Mom. Really. He was a good step-dad.”

“He was,” she said. “And he knew you didn’t mean that.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“How?”

“A few nights ago, he was telling me how beautiful, intelligent, and kind you and your sister are,” she said. “He thanked me for letting him be a part of your lives,” she added. Of course those weren’t even close to his words, but she needed to make her daughter feel better somehow.

“Did you get to tell him you loved him?” Caroline asked.

“I did, although it doesn’t really feel like it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. I feel like I didn’t say it enough.”

“That’s how I feel, I think. Is ‘regret’ the right word?” she asked.

“Hmm, I think that could fit the situation,” Miranda said. “Do you regret not telling him you loved him?”

“Yeah. Do you think he can hear me now?”

Miranda was taken aback by the question. She didn’t raise her daughters in any particular religious tradition, and for the past ten years she managed to avoid any conversations concerning life after death. “You mean his soul?”

“I guess. I don’t know. Where do people go when they die?” she said. Miranda could tell by her tone that it was asked rhetorically and that Caroline would be following-up with another statement. For some reason, she found that to be a great relief at the moment. “I always imagined them floating about in the sky, kind of like really nice ghosts. We can’t see them, but they can see us, and know what we’re doing.”

“Does that make you feel better?” Miranda asked. “To know that they’re always with you, watching you?”

“I think so. I mean, if Stephen can hear me now, he’d know I didn’t mean what I said the other day, that I love him, and that he was an awesome step-dad. Do you believe that, too, Mom?”

“Honestly, sweetheart, I’m not sure. But I kind of like your way of seeing it.”

“It makes sense if you can get past the ghost thing,” she said. “Do you think he’s smiling watching us now, or is he sad because we’re sitting here feeling sad about him?”

Miranda softly stroked her daughter’s cheek and kissed her sweetly. “Caroline, I am 100% sure that he’s smiling from wherever he is. But I think that’s enough talking for a while. Can we still take that nap?”

Caroline nodded and laid her head on Miranda’s chest. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, Bobbsey.”


	8. Chapter 8

Caroline spent nearly four hours with Miranda earlier that afternoon, and after dinner, Cassidy sat with her for a little while, too. But, they both wanted to go back to school the following day. That evening, James spent some extra time with the girls when he tucked them in, then headed to the den where he poured himself a drink and fell asleep watching SportsCenter.

Several hours later, he crept into Miranda’s bedroom to retrieve his cell phone and was surprised to find her awake. Although, it really wasn’t too surprising, considering she slept most of the day.

“Miranda, I’ll go stay in the guest room,” James said as he reached for his cell phone. “I have to get up early and go into the office tomorrow.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I mean, I…would you stay? In here?”

“Of course,” he said, shutting the bedroom door. He turned out the light and crawled into bed, trying to stick to his side. When Miranda crawled closer and laid her head on his chest, he wasn’t sure how to react.

“Can I—will you just hold me for a little?” she asked.

He wrapped his arm around her petite frame and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m here. Whatever you need,” he whispered.

“Don’t leave me. I couldn’t bear it—not right now,” she said.

“I’m right here,” he said. He would never admit it, but it was breaking his heart to see Miranda like this. _She_ was breaking his heart all over again. She was the only woman he ever loved, and here he was, curled up with her in bed, consoling her over the death of her husband. He gently shifted his hips. No matter how hard he tried to conceal it, he was certain Miranda would feel his erection straining against his shorts. He prayed that she was sound asleep.

“What is grief supposed to feel like?” she whispered as she traced circles on his chest.

James shook his head as he woke up, unsure of how long he had been asleep. “Miranda, what time is it?” He looked at his cell phone: 4:32 AM. He took a deep breath. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said out of habit. “I just—I don’t feel right.”

James sat up a little in bed.

“No, I’m fine _physically_ —at least I think so. I just feel like I’m lost in a fog, like everything is far away,” she said.

He softly brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. Her skin was damp from tears.  “Have you thought about talking to someone? A professional?”

Miranda groaned and turned to her side away from James. “I was trying to talk to _you_ , but forget it,” she said.

“Mir, come on. You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Well, good, because I don’t really want to be _told_ anything right now. Go back to sleep.”

* * *

The next few days passed uneventfully. Miranda hadn’t left her bedroom, and she was still upset at James for wanting to send her to a shrink.

Kim and her husband arrived in New York the evening prior to the funeral. Miranda wasn’t answering her calls, so Andrea paid them a visit, expressed her sympathies, and offered anything they would need.

Friday morning was cold and bleak, perfectly fitting to Miranda’s mood. James had to fly out to Los Angeles on business. He was only staying one night, but his trip perfectly coincided with the funeral. Once arrangements were announced, Miranda specifically instructed Andrea that she did not want anyone from _Runway_ there—including her.

“Miranda,” Roy said quietly. “I’m truly sorry about Stephen. If there’s anything that my wife or I can do—”

“Your job,” Miranda said, watching people she vaguely recognized enter the church. They were parked on 96th Street just down the block from St. Francis de Sales. The church bell chimed, marking the start of the mass. Miranda thought back to the calls and messages from Andrea that she ignored this morning, and suddenly regretted leaving her phone at home. She didn’t want to walk in alone.

And it must have showed.

Roy quietly stepped out of the car and opened Miranda’s door. Offering his arm, he helped her out and walked with her up the stairs. The church suddenly grew silent as all eyes turned to Miranda, walking up the aisle. If it wasn’t for Roy’s arm beneath her fingers, or his hand on the small of her back, she might have turned around and fled. As they neared the front, Kim stood and hugged Miranda then led her into the pew where she and her husband were sitting.

Miranda sat through the service in a daze. She specifically did not take any medication this morning because she wanted to be awake, but the fog persisted. She didn’t hear one word that was said.

When the service was over, the priest invited everyone to take a few moments to approach the casket and pay their respects. She stood next to the casket with Kim and her husband, shaking hands and accepting hugs from a line of nameless faces.

Kim nudged her gently. “Would you like a few minutes alone?”

She nodded and the pair walked towards the back of the church. Approaching the casket, she felt her legs growing weak. She kneeled and bowed her head, struggling to recall the prayers she recited as a child.

“Oh, Stephen,” she whispered as her fingers stroked the polished mahogany. “I’m going to miss you. I took you and your presence for granted. I know that now. You must know I loved you dearly.” She softly kissed her fingertips, then pressed her fingers to the casket.

She pulled herself to her feet and slowly walked away as tears streamed down her face.

“Thank you for loving my brother,” Kim said. She wrapped her arms around her and hugged tightly. “I know it wasn’t perfect, and that neither of you were fully satisfied, but you were there for him, and he loved you. You were a fixture in his life for decades.”

Miranda nodded, then gasped as she realized. “Was…his… _partner?”_

Kim smiled. “Yes. I called Eli personally and asked him to come today. I think Stephen would have wanted that,” she said. “You know they weren’t together—not for the past ten months or so, though they stayed friends.”

Miranda slowly shook her head. “I—I didn’t know,” she stammered. “I didn’t even know,” she cried.

Kim began to lead them out of the church. “We’re having lunch at the Carlyle. Will you join us?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Miranda said.

“Will you be coming to Dallas for the burial?” Kim’s husband asked.

“We have a little bit of flexibility on the date,” Kim added. “You’re welcome to stay with us. I promise my mother will behave,” she added with a half smile.

“Thank you, but no. I’ve said my goodbye,” she said. “Was there anything else—?”

“Andy has been extremely helpful and kind to us. I don’t think we’ll see her before we leave, so would you please tell her thank you?”

Miranda nodded. She wondered for a second if Andrea had a single cruel bone in her body. That made her think of a skeleton, and then a corpse, and then… She shook her head. “You need to walk out before me,” Miranda said. “The press are waiting to get photos of me. You don’t deserve that.”

“Okay,” Kim said. “Miranda, I hope this isn’t goodbye forever. I know we’re not exactly in the same circles, but I would like to stay in touch.”

“Of course,” she said, hugging her.

She waited several minutes until she was certain Kim and her husband were in a car and on their way. She slipped on her sunglasses and pushed the massive church door open. Two guards—police officers, perhaps—quickly flanked her sides as Roy took her arm and led her to the car. The flashes and videocameras seemed more obnoxious than usual as the press pushed and shoved and shouted at her for comment. She was seconds from completely falling apart, and it must have been obvious to Roy, too, as he quietly told her to count to ten and she’d be in the car.

“Miranda! Here! How are you taking your husband’s sudden death? Is it true he was an alcoholic?”

 _Two_.

“Do they have any suspects in Stephen’s attack? Will you be suing the NYPD?”

_Three._

“We’ve heard your mother-in-law didn’t think you were good enough for her son. What do you have to say?”

 _Four_.

“Miss Priestly! Is it true that he was raped!?”

 _Five_.

“When will you be returning to _Runway_? It’s rumored you haven’t been to work!”

_Six._

“Is it true that Stephen’s gay? Did you know about his male lover?”

_Seven._

“Are you accompanying his body on the flight to Dallas?”

_Eight._

“Miranda! Was he buried in a Prada suit?”

_Nine._

“How are your daughters handling the death?”

_Ten._

Miranda exhaled as she sank into the backseat of the car, curling up on the seat as sobs took over her body.

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay. It’s over. You’re okay.”

Miranda opened her eyes and pushed herself up, shocked to find herself looking into the brown eyes of her assistant. “What—?”

“I thought you might want some company after the service, so I met Roy here,” she said quickly. “Is this okay?”

Miranda nodded and opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn’t help the strangled sob that escaped her lips.

“Come here,” Andrea said, wrapping her arms around Miranda’s shoulders and pulling her tightly to her chest. “Roy’s going to drive around for a little bit.” She calmly stroked Miranda’s back, hoping the older woman would match her breathing pattern and calm down. “What do you need?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Miranda cried into her shoulder.

Andrea’s heart was bursting at the seams at seeing the editor like this, and it only made her love her even more.

Yes, _love_.

She pressed a kiss to the white head of hair as Roy drove them around the city, stopping at all the busiest locations in hopes of losing any photographers in pursuit. “Are you cold?” she asked.

“No.”

“But, you’re shaking.”

Miranda shook her head. “Trembling. Shaking is voluntary, _trembling_ is involuntary.”

Andrea grinned and hugged the woman tighter—if that was even possible. “When we get back to the townhouse, we’ll have something to eat, and then you can lie down for a nap before the girls get home from school, if you’d like. I’ll help them with any homework, we’ll order out dinner—or, maybe Cara will have something prepared—and then we can watch a movie or something with the girls. How does that sound?”

“James won’t be home until tomorrow night,” she said.

“That is correct. But you don’t need him—you’ve got me,” she said, pressing a kiss to Miranda’s forehead. _And I love you_.

“Do I—have you, that is?” she asked.

“Yes.” A simple reply.

Miranda wasn’t ready to admit it, being wrapped up in Andrea’s arms made her feel something. She couldn’t find the word for it, but it was a good thing, whatever it was. She would let the young woman take her home and take care of her. Something about it just felt right…necessary, in fact.

Back at the townhouse, Andrea led Miranda into the kitchen. Cara was upstairs, no doubt taking advantage of Miranda’s absence to actually clean her bedroom and bathroom, so Andrea turned on the kettle and poked around the refrigerator. “We can do grilled cheese, salad, pasta salad, fruit, eggs & toast, soup, turkey sandwich, a cube of cheese. Anything sound good to you?”

“No,” she said, setting her sunglasses on the table.

“Okay. Let me rephrase that. I’m going to make you one of the aforementioned foods for lunch. Select whichever you dislike the least,” Andrea said with a smirk as she poured some hot water into a mug and covered it, letting the tea steep.

“Nothing. I’m not hungry. Tea is enough.”

Andrea resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Miranda, don’t do this.”

“Do _what_?” she hissed.

“Starve yourself. It’s not going to make you feel any better about Stephen. If anything, it will make you weak, tired, and lethargic, so you’ll feel worse.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not starving,” she said.

Andrea uncovered the mug and placed it before Miranda at the table. “I don’t particularly have a good eye for fashion, but I am observant and I can see that you’ve lost a significant amount of weight in the last two weeks.”

“Andrea, this is not your—”

“Not my what? Concern? Place? Whatever you were going to say, you’re wrong. It is my concern, because I happen to care very much about you. And on any other occasion it might not be my place, but today, when I see that your custom-tailored Burberry wool coat hangs on your frame like a trash bag…don’t try to tell me it’s not my place. I can only imagine what your dress looks like. That’s why you’re trembling, you know.” Andrea was beyond frustrated. She didn’t have to be here.

With two unsteady hands, Miranda picked up the mug and took a sip of her tea, letting the hot liquid soothe her stomach. “I can’t,” she whispered, setting the mug down. “It doesn’t stay down.”

The young woman’s eyes widened. Okay, so at least it wasn’t entirely intentional. “Are liquids okay?”

Miranda nodded.

“Good. I’m going to use your juicer, then,” Andrea said. She had been wanting a reason to use this gadget since she was at the townhouse with the girls last week.

“I—I have a juicer?”

“Yes. It’s actually a Breville Juice _Fountain_. Are there any fruits or veggies that you don’t like?”

Miranda shook her head. About five minutes later, Andrea placed a tall glass of greenish juice with a straw in front of her.

“Try it, then I’ll tell you what’s in it.”

Miranda took a sip and nodded.

“Cucumber, celery, spinach, apple, carrot, lemon, wheatgrass, and mint,” she said proudly. “Don’t force it—I made quite a bit,” she said, pointing to the other glass on the counter.

“Andrea, you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I know,” she said with a grin. “I could have just run to the store to buy a Naked juice, but those are loaded with unnecessary sugars and preservatives.”

Miranda weakly rolled her eyes.

“I know what you meant. Please, just—I’m here and I’m doing this.”

The editor nodded and took another sip of the juice. “This is good, actually. You should have some—or help yourself to salad or something.”

“Thank you,” Andrea said. She took the other glass of juice, then opened the freezer and removed a box of Thin Mints, joining Miranda at the table.

“Girl Scout cookies?” Miranda asked.

“Yep. I brought them for the girls. I couldn’t believe they’ve never had them.”

“I haven’t had those since I was a little girl,” Miranda said.

Andrea slid the box across the table. “They probably taste the same,” she said.

Miranda smiled and finished drinking the juice. “Maybe later,” she said. “I think I’m going to go lie down,” she said. She stood from the table and paused, looking down at her hands. “Come upstairs?—that is, if you don’t have something else do to.”

Andrea smiled. “I’m all yours. Just give me a minute to load the dishwasher and I’ll be right up.”

“Leave it for Cara,” Miranda said.

Andrea stood and followed her out of the kitchen. “Here, let me hang your coat,” she said when they got to the foyer.

Miranda pulled her coat tighter around her waist and frowned.

Andrea gently placed her hands on Miranda’s arms. “I want to apologize for what I said before. I was frustrated and a little scared—I thought you were intentionally starving yourself, and I just handled it poorly,” she confessed. “Forgive me?”

Miranda slowly began to open her arms, shrugging the coat from her shoulders. “Please don’t say anything. I know I look terrible.” She handed the coat over in silence.

Andrea hung it in the closet, then followed the older woman upstairs to her room. It was the first time in nearly a week that Miranda wore something other than her lounge pants and a robe, and she was especially self-conscious in front of the young woman today. Her hosiery hung loosely on her legs, and as Andrea predicted, the Chanel knit dress looked like a tent hanging from her bony shoulders. If she would have thought ahead, she could have had her bring some new dresses in a smaller size—Elizabeth and James, or Jil Sander or something.

Without much thought, she toed off her heels and crawled on top of the bed, not noticing that Andrea walked around to the other side and did the same.

“Miranda,” she said quietly, placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I still feel awful for what I said. No matter what you’re wearing, you’re still incredibly beautiful.”

“Where do you get off saying these things? If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were—” Miranda paused for a fraction of a second with sudden realization, “—trying to seduce me.” She couldn’t stop herself from finishing the thought.

Andrea bit down on her upper lip, physically keeping her mouth shut. She leaned back against the headboard and folded her arms across her chest. Maybe they could both use some silence. She closed her eyes, though she doubted she would be able to fall asleep.

Over an hour later, Andrea’s eyes snapped open when she heard Miranda emerge from the bathroom. She was wearing a pair of jeans with a v-neck tee and a chunky, cable-knit cardigan, and she was digging in her drawer for a scarf. Andrea climbed off the bed and straightened the cover.

“The girls should be home any minute,” Miranda said. “Does this look—okay?”

Andrea knew what her answer was, but she paused for a moment to think about how she could say it. “Yes,” she said slowly. “You look casual and relaxed, like that day a month ago when you told me to take Emily’s place in Paris.” She held her breath, praying that Miranda would understand that she meant she looked normal, not gaunt.

“Good,” she said with a slight sigh of relief. “I don’t want the girls—”

“Mom! We’re home!” Cassidy’s voice drifting up from the front door interrupted her thoughts.

“Mom?” Caroline called. She could tell she was running up the steps. “Mom,” she said, entering the bedroom and rushing to hug Miranda.

“Bobbsey, what is it?”

“Why didn’t you tell us the funeral was today?” Cassidy asked, joining her sister.

“I didn’t want to subject you to the press, darlings. They were especially brutal today.”

“We know,” Caroline said, crossing her arms. “Patrick had to clear a path so Roy could pull up to the cafeteria entrance today.”

“Julie asked us why we weren’t at our stepdad’s funeral. Imagine how stupid we felt when we said we didn’t know!” Cassidy said.

Miranda led the girls over to the sofa at the other end of her room and sat with them. “Please forgive me. I was trying to protect you, but I guess I didn’t do a very good job. I should have told you.”

“Who else was there?” Caroline asked.

“Stephen’s sister Kim and her husband, and a lot of Stephen’s coworkers and friends. I didn’t really know anyone else other than Kim,” Miranda said.

“Was Dad there? Andy, did you go?” Cassidy asked.

“No,” Miranda said. “Your father is in Los Angeles on business right now. And Andrea was not there.”

“Nope, I met your mom afterwards. The only reason I knew about it was because I had to help Kim make the arrangements,” Andrea added.

“Let’s go downstairs and Andrea will fix you a snack,” Miranda said.

“Okay,” Cassidy said. She headed out of the room and Andrea followed.

Miranda stood from the couch and Caroline grabbed her hand. “Mom? When is Dad coming home?” she asked.

“Well, his flight leaves Los Angeles around noon tomorrow, so he won’t arrive in New York until at least 9 pm,” she said.

“Why so long?”

“It’s almost a six-hour flight, and then there’s a three-hour time difference between New York, which is on Eastern time, and California, which is Pacific,” Miranda explained, leading her daughter out of the bedroom.

“So is Dad going to come back here after the airport?”

Miranda paused on the stairs. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I didn’t talk to him about that.” When they were almost to the kitchen she stopped again. “Caroline, would you like it if your Dad came back to stay here?”

“Like, forever?”

Miranda shrugged. “Let’s not say ‘forever,’ but maybe on more of a regular basis?”

“Are you and dad getting back together, Mom?” Cassidy asked, joining the two in the doorway.

Miranda looked up and met Andrea’s eyes. The young woman quickly looked away. “Darling, we haven’t even talked about it. I was just asking if you and your sister like it when your dad is here. That’s all.”

“But—”

“This conversation is over,” Miranda said, issuing her signature glare to her offspring. “Snack, then homework.”

“But Mom, it’s Friday,” Caroline whined as she took a seat at the table.

“Just think,” Andrea said, setting a plate of veggies and ranch and four wedges of peanut butter & jelly sandwiches down, “if you get started on your work now, you can have all weekend to relax.”

“Andrea is right,” Miranda said.

“Did you want soup, or something else?” the young woman asked her.

“Maybe more juice. Something a little sweeter?”

Andrea smiled. “Coming right up.” She quickly put some apples, carrots, oranges, and cauliflower into the juicer and handed a glass to Miranda.

Miranda took a sip and grinned. “This is delicious.”

The girls giggled and Miranda quickly wiped the orange foam from her upper lip. She let the girls each take a taste.

“What is it? It tastes like a melted creamsicle,” Cassidy said. Caroline nodded in agreement.

“It’s all healthy fruits and veggies,” Andrea said proudly. “I think your mom said something about milkshakes later tonight if you got your work done,” she added.

Miranda pursed her lips, but couldn’t resist the eager smiles of her daughters.

Later that evening, Miranda was sitting on the couch with her girls, watching the movie _Up._ Andrea was familiar with the storyline, but they weren’t, and they insisted on this choice. Towards the end of the movie, she could just tell that Miranda was distant, not watching the movie. As soon as it ended, she kissed her daughters on the foreheads and excused herself upstairs.

The girls were tired, so they went up to bed while Andrea turned off the TV and the downstairs lights. She made her way upstairs and tucked the girls in with promises of homemade pancakes in the morning.

When she walked back towards Miranda’s room, she knocked softly before letting herself in. The woman was in her robe, curled up on the bed, crying into her pillow. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said.

“Would you like me to stay here tonight?” Andrea asked. She hadn’t really planned on spending the night, but right now she really didn’t have any other options. Miranda nodded. “Okay, I need to borrow something to sleep in, then.”

“Top middle drawer,” Miranda said.

Well, the top middle drawer was Miranda’s lingerie drawer. Andrea carefully searched for a modest nightgown, and finally settled on a red sleeveless one. She changed in the bathroom, rinsed her mouth with mouthwash and quickly washed her face.

Her emotions were bubbling to the surface. Just earlier that day, she realized that she loved Miranda and cared for her very deeply. Earlier in the day, she would have reveled in the thought of sleeping next to the woman, perhaps holding her in her arms, wearing this stunning silk nightgown for her. But now, after what she overheard in the kitchen, she wasn’t so sure of what she felt. Did Miranda want to get back with her ex-husband? Were they talking about it? It wasn’t exactly jealousy, but all the same, she wasn’t thrilled. She took a deep breath and exited the bathroom, hoping that Miranda would sleep through the night without any awkward conversations.

At first, it was quiet. Miranda’s tears abated and she may have even fallen asleep. Andrea heard her get up once to use the bathroom, but even then, she was perfectly quiet. Then, around midnight, she felt Miranda’s arm across her waist as she rested her head on her shoulder. “Miranda?” she asked quietly, but the woman made no sound. Sighing, she gently draped her arm over her and fell back to sleep.

A short time later, she was woken by Miranda’s screams and thrashing arms. She was clawing at her, kicking her feet, howling “No! Nooo!” over and over.

“Miranda, wake up!” Andrea called as she shook her shoulders firmly. “Miranda!” she cupped her face and stroked her cheek, looking into the woman’s wild eyes. “Miranda!”

She blinked a few times, then her body stilled. She blinked again and looked up at the young woman in horror, trying to push herself away. “Oh god…” she moaned.

“Hey, it’s okay. It was a bad dream,” Andrea said.

Miranda laid back against the pillows and brought her hand up to cover her eyes. “It’s never going to go away, is it? I’ll never feel normal again,” she cried.

Andrea propped herself up on her elbow. She gently tugged the woman’s hand from her face and squeezed it tightly. “I don’t have an answer,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Miranda’s hand, “but I will do whatever I can to help make you feel like yourself.”

Miranda looked up at her through teary eyes. Andrea couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. “Andrea,” she whispered, her entire body trembling.

“Come here,” she said, wrapping her arm around her and pulling her onto her chest, much like she did earlier in the town car. She gently rubbed circles on the woman’s back, trying not to think of what was beneath the low-cut, spaghetti-strap nightgown. She could feel Miranda’s entire body pressed against hers—every curve and indentation, even the woman’s pubic bone pressed against her own thigh.

And Miranda felt it, too. She felt softly pebbled nipples pressing against her own chest with the rise and fall of each breath. She pulled herself up and cupped Andrea’s cheek, looking into her eyes. The young woman was so full of warmth and comfort, Miranda felt like she might just explode.

“Miranda, I—” she started to speak.

Miranda traced her thumb down her cheek, pressing it to her lips while she shook her head. They stared at one another like that for a long time. Neither could read the other’s thoughts. Both were afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. Miranda’s eyes kept flickering down to Andrea’s lips, and each time she did that, the younger woman struggled to suppress a moan.

Miranda shifted her right hand so she could lean against her elbow, and the slight movement caused Andrea to gasp. She took advantage of the parted lips and slid her thumb inside, tracing her lower lip. Andrea inhaled sharply, and then suddenly, the thumb was replaced with warm, moist lips.

After several kisses, each growing in length and intensity, she gently pushed Miranda’s shoulders away from her. “Miranda, wait,” she panted. “I need to know what we’re doing. I work for you. And you were just talking about getting back together with James.”

“I—” she stammered. Every bone in her body trembled as her strong feelings for the young woman suddenly bubbled to the surface all at once. “It’s nothing, forget it,” she said, turning away and pulling the sheet tightly around her body.

“Miranda—”

“No. Don’t,” she said. “After that little speech where you said you cared about me, and then saying I was ‘beautiful,’ I thought…well, I thought maybe you knew me better than that.” Miranda bit her lip. This was her defense mechanism—reeling others in, then pushing back. She needed the constant pull. She needed to be necessary.

“Miranda, I do mean it, and I do think I know you. God, you’re so frustrating. I care about you. I think you’re beautiful. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you attractive. But sometimes, you’re just so damn impulsive! How can you possibly think this is a good time for—for whatever this is? Your husband just died, you’re not ready for this.”

“Apparently, I wasn’t thinking at all. Of course, you know what’s best for me,” she said. “Please remove yourself from my bed.”

Andrea sighed. “Is that what you really want?” She reached over and placed her hand gently on Miranda’s shoulder. “I’ll take my things and go up to the guest room if you want. I don’t want you to make you feel uncomfortable. Do you want me to?”

Miranda closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “No,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve humiliated myself enough already. Just—I don’t know—sleep.”

“Okay,” she said. “I have something to tell you, and I’m absolutely certain this is not the right time, but now I don’t know that I will have another chance.” She paused for a few minutes. “I know you’re going to think I’m saying this because of what just happened, but it’s not.”

“Well?” Miranda asked.

“I found a new job. I accepted a position at _The Mirror_ , and they’d like me to start as soon as possible—but, of course, I told them I needed to speak with you first,” Andrea added quickly.

Those were words she never expected to hear the young woman say. This was something permanent, and definitely not in her plans. “Why even tell me? Why not just leave?” Miranda whispered. It sounded as if she was on the verge of tears again.

“I—I care about you, Miranda. I’ve told you that. I don’t want to leave _you_ , I just want a new job. You know I want to be a journalist.”

“You were right—this is absolutely the wrong time to tell me this,” she said, steeling herself against the warring emotions within. “You can tell _The Mirror_ that you’re available beginning Monday morning.”

“Th—this Monday?”

“Yes.”

Andrea’s heart sank. Just when she was beginning to feel something for the woman, she had to go and throw it all away. “I can still turn down the offer. I can tell them I changed my mind. I can stay—with you, Miranda. I can stay.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miranda said, sniffling. “This is your career. When I was your age I would have done the same thing—and I did.”

“Miranda, I don’t want to leave you,” Andrea pleaded. “I still want to be here for you and for the girls.”

“This is not about my daughters,” she said. “You will move on. This conversation is over, go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Miranda,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

The next morning, Andrea woke early and made the girls breakfast, as promised. She wrote down several other juice recipes that she hoped Cara could make. She slipped on her coat and went back upstairs to Miranda’s bedroom, unsure of what she would say to the other woman, though certain that she wanted to see her again.

“The girls just finished with breakfast. I, um, wanted to say goodbye,” Andrea said, looking down at the floor.

Miranda was sitting on the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest. “Andrea, go, live your life. Take every opportunity you’re given and make the most of it—second chances are few and far between in life,” she said. “Thank you for being here the past few weeks and at least giving me that.”

“Miranda, I’m going to miss you,” Andrea said.

“Don’t start crying,” the older woman said, moving towards the edge of the bed and wrapping her robe around herself. “I’ve gone two whole hours without a single tear—that may just be my own personal best.” She smiled brightly and it was quite possibly the single most beautiful thing Andrea had ever seen.

Andrea walked over and hugged the editor tightly, holding her for just a little longer than was appropriate. Miranda gently pushed her away and regarded her from an arm’s distance. Without meaning to, Andrea said, “I love you”—as if it were some sort of involuntary reaction to the woman before her.

And Miranda didn’t purse her lips or shake her head. She simply smiled.

“I know, sweetheart,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to Andrea’s forehead. She gently squeezed her hand. “Go on.”


	9. Chapter 9

The following night, Miranda didn’t even feel like getting out of bed to tuck the girls in, so they grabbed their pillows and climbed into bed with their mom. Miranda didn’t say much, and she was grateful that her daughters understood her enough to know sometimes she just needed the quiet companionship.

Once they were fast asleep, she grabbed her phone and crept into the bathroom. So much for the quiet companionship, she thought. Right now, she yearned to hear someone’s voice with a desperation that felt unfamiliar. Somehow, she managed to resist dialing Andrea’s number, instead calling James.

“Miranda?”

“Hi.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” She paused. “Well, I don’t know. No, not really.”

He waited a few minutes, but she didn’t say any more. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No,” she said. “Where are you?”

“I just walked in my front door. My flight was delayed almost two hours.”

“Oh.”

“Miranda, I—”

“How was Los Angeles?”

“Uh, fine. It was fine. I met our new client, and it was good. Sometimes they need that face-to-face communication, you know?” He paused for a few seconds. “I want to ask how the funeral went, but if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”

“Are you coming over?”

“Tonight?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He was not planning on it, but at this point, felt like he could hardly say no. “I had to swing by my place first to grab a few things, some clean clothes, then I was going to come by. Unless it’s too late and you’d rather me just come tomorrow?”

“No. Tonight is fine. Whenever you can,” she said.

James heard her voice crack and quickly realized that his ex-wife was struggling to keep it together. “Mir, where are you right now?” he asked as he quickly threw his things into the duffle bag he had just unpacked.

“Th-the bathroom. The girls are asleep in my bed.”

“Okay, I will be over soon. Go give them a hug and a kiss from me, will you?”

“Of course. Don’t be too long, please.”

“I’ll get there as quickly as I possibly can. Can I park in the back drive?”

“Yes. We’re not going anywhere—and if we do, Roy can take us.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon,” he said.

“Bye.”

As James ended the call, he realized that he wasn’t doing this because of his daughters or because of some misplaced loyalty to his ex-wife. It was love, plain and simple. Tossing his bag over his shoulder, he quickly headed out to his car.

At the townhouse, Miranda returned to her bed and kissed both girls. Cassidy was still sound asleep, but Caroline woke up and sensed that something was wrong. “Mom?” she asked.

“I love you so much, baby girl,” she whispered, wrapping her in her arms and hugging tight. Will you just give your mom a big hug?”

Caroline eagerly hugged her back. Miranda kissed her on the top of her head and brushed her strawberry-blonde curls behind her ear. “I love you, too,” she said.

“Let’s go back to sleep,” Miranda said quietly.

James let himself in the back door and made his way up to Miranda’s bedroom. He met Miranda’s eyes, then bent down to pick up Cassidy and carry her off to her bed. Next, he carried Caroline to her room, and made sure they were both tucked in. When he returned, he climbed into bed and took Miranda in his arms.

During his short trip, he had some time to think about their relationship, about where his life was headed. For him, the answer was clear: he loved Miranda. He never stopped loving Miranda. Staying with her for the past week or so only served to solidify the feelings in his heart.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” he said, brushing her hair back and kissing her temple softly. “Tell me—what do you need?” He cupped her cheek and tilted her head upwards so he could see into her eyes. “Miranda,” he whispered, pressing kisses to her cheek, her chin, her neck. “Oh god, I love you.”

She let out a whimper, arching into his touch. Her left hand snaked up around his neck as she grasped at his short, wavy hair at the back of his head where it was still a deep red color. When James began to suck on the skin over her collarbone, she turned and hooked her leg over his hip.

Pressed up so close to her, he knew he couldn’t hide his erection. Judging by Miranda’s groan as she rocked her hips against him, he didn’t need to.

“Oh god, Mir,” he panted, tilting her chin and looking down into her eyes, searching for permission.

She nodded and her eyes slipped shut as she felt his warm lips on hers. He slid his hands down to her hips and turned, pulling her on top of him. Her eyes were closed, but she kissed him with a passion he had never seen from the woman before.

Her hands fell to his hips and she slipped them beneath his t-shirt, softly raking her nails along his stomach. She pushed the shirt up and over his head as her hands quickly tugged at his sweatpants. He lifted his hips and shed his pants and boxers. Miranda’s hand gripped his rock-hard shaft, squeezing and stroking as she leaned over and swirled her tongue over the tip.

“Uhhg, Miranda,” he groaned, flipping Miranda onto her back, pushing the nude silk gown up until it was around her neck. “Oh god,” he moaned as he roughly palmed her breasts. She spread her legs apart to make room for him and dug her nails into his ass, feeling his heat pressed against her belly.

“Oh…please,” she gasped, arching and twisting her hips.

“Please what?” he whispered. His voice was warm and heavy against her ear.

“Please, Jimmy, I need you,” she cried.

Hearing those words sent a shudder through his body. He knew he wouldn’t last long—not like this. He slipped his hand between their bodies and aligned himself with her entrance. She was wet, and he could feel the heat radiating from her core. He slowly thrust into her, watching her face closely for any signs of discomfort.

“Oh fuck, Miranda,” he hissed. Her eyes were closed, and she was setting him on fire. He couldn’t last. “Mir, please, please—I can’t…I’m going—”

Miranda moaned and her hips bucked upwards. She gasped and arched her back, tensing as she felt him filling her up. He collapsed and rolled onto his side, careful not to crush the petite woman. Her hand absentmindedly pushed her nightgown back down as she tried to catch her breath.

James reached down and slipped his own boxers back on. He pulled the comforter over them and wrapped his arm around her, gently kissing her cheek. “I love you, beautiful,” he said.

The next morning, Miranda woke to her ex-husband’s stubble scratching at her chin. He was nuzzling her neck. His arm was draped over her, and he was pressed up against her backside. She could feel his…oh god, he was inside her. He must have realized she was awake, because now his hand moved upwards, cupping her breast through the thin silk fabric. She wanted to pull away and curl up against the pillow, but his other hand slipped under her and she felt his fingers…she would tell him to stop after she came—and she knew, in this position, with one hand on her nipple and the other stroking her folds, it wouldn’t take much.

She gasped and her lips parted as she pressed her head back into the pillow. She hadn’t expected to orgasm so quickly. She took a deep breath and shuddered, feeling the strong ache between her legs. It had been almost eight months since she last…

“Stop, stop. Stop!” she said, swatting James’ hand and pushing his hips away from her. She crawled towards the edge of the bed and pulled the covers around her as she curled up into a ball.

“Mir, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he asked.

Miranda shook her head. “No. James, what are we doing?”

“Well, I think we were just loving each other,” he said.

“No. We’re divorced, remember? This didn’t work—this _doesn’t_ work,” she said, gesturing between them.

“But—I thought you—I mean, didn’t you—?”

“Want it?” she asked, finishing his thought. “No. I don’t know what I want right now. I can’t even keep the days or hours straight. I haven’t been to work in two weeks. I haven’t eaten solid food in days. I was just at my husband’s _funeral_ this morning,” she said. “Or yesterday morning, whenever that was. Ste—" She gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth as tears began to fall down her cheeks.

“Hey, it’s okay,” James said, reaching out to brush her arm reassuringly. She flung her arm up and swatted him away.

“You need to leave. This should never have happened. This—you need to leave, James.”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Jesus, Miranda.”

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been myself. I haven’t been—I need to get things back on track,” she said.

“You think?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her and pulling his t-shirt on.

“I might need you to take the girls away for a while—at your house, not here,” she added quickly. “If you can’t, I can make other arrangements.”

“I can take them,” he said. “Why, who would you get? Your little _Ahn-dre-ya_?”

“Get out. Get OUT!” she screamed.

“Jesus, Miranda,” he said, standing and pulling up his sweatpants. “You’re fucking crazy, do you know that?” He grabbed his duffle bag and headed for the door. “Call me—or have Andrea call me—or better yet, I will come back this afternoon to pick the girls up.”

Miranda sat there, staring into space as she clutched the sheet. She jumped when he slammed the front door.

* * *

“Mom?”

Miranda opened her eyes. She wasn’t really sleeping. The sun was shining brightly in the bedroom now, and she wasn’t sure how much time had passed since James left.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

She nodded slowly, and Caroline crawled up onto the bed with her.

“Cara’s here. She got here around nine. Cass called Andy, but her phone isn’t working or something. We were supposed to make homemade hummus today. Can you call her? She’ll answer if you call,” she said.

Miranda swallowed slowly. When it rains, it pours, she thought. “Andrea has a new job. I don’t want you or your sister to bother her,” Miranda said. She tried to hold back her tears. For some reason, wishing Andrea was there to hold her didn’t seem to help.

“Wait, she doesn’t work at _Runway_ anymore?”

“No,” Miranda said with a sniffle.

“So, can’t she still come over after work?”

“No. Leave her be.”

“But Mom—”

“She isn’t even in New York anymore, so don’t even think about it,” Miranda said. She wasn’t sure if that lie was more for herself or for her daughter, but she knew she could never move on without pushing the young woman far from her thoughts. “I love you, Caroline. You know that, right?”

She smiled and hugged Miranda.

“Go back downstairs with your sister and tell Cara I’ll be down in a few minutes. I need to take a quick shower, and then maybe I’ll have some soup,” she said.

“Mom?” Caroline asked, turning back. She was almost at the door. Miranda was standing in the bathroom doorway. “Are you still sad about Stephen?”

Miranda’s lip quivered at the mention of his name. “I am. But it’s more complicated than just missing him. You’ll understand better when you’re older,” she said. “Go on, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

As Caroline walked away, Miranda decided she was going to do whatever it took to feel normal again. She couldn’t risk her relationship with her girls any more than she already had.


	10. Chapter 10

— Six months later —

 

“Okay, Miranda, our time is up almost for today,” he said. “I know I’ve been saying this for the past few weeks, but really, I don’t think you need to maintain this frequency.”

“I can afford it. I think it helps,” she said.

“How have the nightmares and flashbacks been? You haven’t mentioned them, so I presume they disappeared.”

“Not entirely. There are still flashbacks, but not of Stephen or his body. It’s her. It’s as if I can feel her and smell her, but I can’t see her face.”

“Oh, well that is interesting. What are you doing when you get those flashbacks?”

Miranda blushed and looked at her hands in her lap. “Sleeping—err, laying in bed. It’s right before I fall asleep.”

“Have you thought any more about reaching out to her? You’ve made such remarkable progress with everyone else in your life. I really think that a conversation with her would be the final step to bring you peace.”

“I have peace. It’s her…”

“What is it? You can say it.”

“No, it’s ridiculous. I can’t.”

“Miranda, you know as well as I that if you can’t say it during therapy, we have bigger issues at hand,” he warned.

She sighed and straightened in the chair. “I want her back in my life. That’s all.”

“And what have you done to try and get there?”

“Nothing. I know. I’m just…I don’t want to turn the memories sour. If all I have to hold onto are flashbacks of her arms around me, it’s better than remembering her laughing at me or walking away.”

Dr. Thomas Prindle took a deep breath as he leaned back into his chair. “It sounds like you’re afraid she will laugh at you, think you’re a foolish old woman,” he said.

Miranda pursed her lips and shrugged.

“You’re not. And I think you might be surprised by her if you let her in. Not all twenty-somethings are insensitive. There are genuine, caring, people out there, and I think you and I both know that she cared about you,” he said.

“But she hasn’t even tried to call or email me,” Miranda whined. She shook her head and stood from the chair. “Look, I’m in a good place when I don’t think about her too much. I have a great relationship with my daughters for the first time in my life, my ex-husband is a supportive co-parent, and I’ve managed to get my staff in a place where they’re not too scared of me. I’m not going to go searching for unhappiness. I _am_ happy. If she contacts me, then maybe I’ll think about it, but until then, just let me enjoy this.”

Thomas nodded. “Sounds like a fair assessment,” he said. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I do have another patient waiting. Was there anything else?”

“No, that’s all,” she said. She reached out and shook his hand. “As always, thank you for listening to me, Thomas.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, Miranda entered the townhouse carrying three bags of groceries. “Girls? A little help?” she called.

Cassidy came running to the door and took two bags from Miranda. “Sorry, Mom. We didn’t hear you.”

“It’s okay, thanks,” she said, shutting the door behind her.

“What’s for dinner?”

“I picked up some angel hair pasta and fresh mozzarella. I thought we could use those tomatoes and basil from the garden,” Miranda said, setting her things down on the kitchen counter.

“This looks like more than pasta and cheese,” Caroline said, joining them in the kitchen. She helped her sister unload the bags and put the groceries away in the fridge and pantry.

“I bought the ingredients for creme puffs so we could make them on Saturday, and then some snacks in case we decide to do a picnic Sunday,” Miranda said as she quickly checked her email.

“Are we having a party? I thought that creme puff recipe makes hundreds of them,” Cassidy said.

Miranda smiled. “We can make a few different varieties—vanilla, chocolate, banana, maybe lemon—and whatever we don’t want, I’ll take to work on Monday for the production team. They’ve been putting in a lot of extra hours this week, and they loved the little cheesecakes we sent a few weeks ago,” she said. “Caroline, honey, can you please put the water on in the big pot to boil? I have to make one quick phone call.”

“Sure,” she said, digging the pot out from one of the lower cabinets.

Miranda walked into the living room to make her call. “Where are we at with the cover?”

“Hi Miranda, you’re on speaker,” Nigel said. “We have it narrowed down to two photos, either of which would work for the cover, though they might be a bit too dramatic for an interior page.”

“Do you have them up in front of you?” Emily asked. “I emailed them ten minutes ago.”

“I do not,” Miranda said calmly.

“Right. Well, in both photos, Kate is wearing the Siriano white sheer crop-top and full midi skirt. They look amazing,” Emily said.

“In photo A,” Serena continued, “she’s wearing a sun hat, and her arm is up, holding it down against the wind. She’s laughing, and it’s really stunning. Photo B is without the hat. She’s wearing the red Asos bow heels, and she has her hands on her hips, looking straight on the camera.”

“Which shoes are in A? Neutral?” Miranda asked.

“Sort of—the pale mint Jimmy Choos,” Nigel said.

“Can we do a close-up of photo A for the cover, then use B for the interior page, but scale it down sixty percent or so? And use it for a ‘Get the look without breaking the bank’ feature? I know H&M had a midi skirt like that, and we could pair it with a Free People or DKNY top. There are probably some Madden heels, too. And maybe feature some locally-sourced accessories or vintage items? Can you pull that together?”

In the conference room, Miranda could just imagine everyone exchanging glances.

“ _Nigel_ ,” Miranda said. “Are you still there? Can you pull that together?” she repeated slowly.

“Yes, yes, of course. We’re on it now. The final should be ready within a few hours. Would you like it messengered over?” he asked.

“No.” Miranda thought for a moment. Several months ago, she decided to no longer bring work home, with the rare exception of a weekend when the girls were with their father. Even though the print deadline was only hours away, she refused to make an exception. “No, I will come in. Have Paul call me when he’s printing it,” she said.

“Thanks, Miranda,” they all said.

“Thank you, everyone. Emily, please order some salads or snacks or coffee for everyone. I appreciate you all staying to get this finished.”

“Of course. Have a good evening, Miranda.”

She ended the call and headed back into the kitchen, eager to get started on dinner.

“Mom, is everything okay at work?” Cassidy asked as she carried in a colander full of grape tomatoes from the garden.

“Yes it is. I will have to run back for a few minutes later tonight, but I won’t be gone more than an hour. Do you mind?” she asked.

“Nope. Can we come with?”

“Of course,” Miranda said. In an effort to spend more time with her daughters, she had been letting them spend a few days a week in her office while they were on summer break. Today, they stayed home by themselves.

On the other side of the kitchen, Caroline turned the iPod on that was connected to the kitchen stereo. “Mom, you have to watch this, okay? We’ve been practicing all day,” she said.

Miranda finishes rinsing the tomatoes and set the colander in the sink to drain. “Alright, what am I watching?”

“Just watch!” Caroline said, pressing play and running to get into place next to her sister.

Miranda leaned back against the counter and smiled as she watched her girls dance to Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” Just last week they tried to teach her the dance to Britney’s “Oops, I Did It Again” on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

“Girls, that was impressive,” Miranda said when they finished. She didn’t want to admit it, but she would for sure have the tune in her head for the rest of the day.

After they ate dinner, they piled on the couch and watched the American Idol results show. It was down to four contestants, and one would be voted off tonight. Partway through the show, she received a call saying the cover was ready for review. Since the girls couldn’t pull their eyes away from the television, Miranda slipped out on her own and promised to bring them ice cream on her way home.

The cover turned out perfectly, and she was glad that she went into the office because it gave her the opportunity to personally thank those staff members who put in the extra time to have it done correctly.

“Do any of you know where I can find some ice cream around here at this hour?” she asked as she was about to leave. “Oh please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I know you all monitor your calorie intake closely, but I promised my daughters I would bring them ice cream and I would appreciate if I didn’t have to traipse all over the city to find it.”

“Smith’s Fresh Market, two doors down from Starbucks.” Jocelyn said. “I noticed they have a gelato cooler in the back, and you can buy it by the pint. What? They have a good salad bar,” she added with a shrug.

“Thank you, Jocelyn,” Miranda said. “And I don’t want to see any of you here before nine o’clock tomorrow. No arguments. Good night,” she said.

Miranda headed across the street and purchased two pints: chocolate almond for the girls and pistachio for herself. As she was exiting the store, she was too focused on finding a cab that she nearly ran into someone.

“Sorry—”

“Oh, excuse me.”

“Miranda?”

Miranda looked up and met eyes with Andrea Sachs, former assistant and object of her nightly flashbacks. “A-Andrea.”

“How are you? I didn’t expect to see you here at Smith’s,” she said, glancing down at Miranda’s bag to see that she had, in fact, made a purchase at the market. When the woman didn’t respond, Andrea continued. “I’m working the overnight shift today, updating stories on the website, so I just came to grab a quick salad before they close,” she explained.

“Oh, um, I’m bringing the girls gelato,” Miranda said, holding her bag up. “Your job—it’s going okay?” She mentally cursed herself for not being able to string together a sentence.

“Yeah, it’s great. The first few months were rough, but I’m not the rookie anymore, so it’s better. And you’re doing okay? _Runway_? The girls?”

Miranda opened her mouth to answer just as a taxi pulled up for her. She looked to the impatient driver, then back to Andrea. She closed her eyes for a second. “Would you like to come by tomorrow? I can’t talk right now—the gelato, and—” she reached for the door of the taxi before he drove away.

“I would love to,” Andrea said with a smile.

“Oh, you would? I mean, great. We will be home all day, so whatever works for you.”

Andrea was a little surprised at that, but decided not to think too much about it. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Have a good night!” she called.

Miranda smiled and waved before closing the door to the taxi. She tried to calm herself down. Just because she invited her doesn’t mean she will show up. She probably only accepted the invitation because she was caught off-guard. That’s okay, Miranda thought. She wasn’t going to say anything to the girls because she didn’t want them to be disappointed when she didn’t show up.

That night, they indulged in their gelato and no one said a word when Miranda ate directly from the container.

The next day, Miranda wanted to be prepared no matter what time Andrea might show up. _If_ she showed up. She made heart-shaped Belgian waffles for breakfast at Caroline’s request, and spent the majority of the early afternoon cleaning out the kitchen cabinets while the girls were on their computers or reading.

After lunch, Caroline and Cassidy helped her to make over two hundred creme puffs. Cooling racks were setup all over the counters, and once they were no longer hot, they had plans to fill them with vanilla and banana pudding.

Miranda couldn’t help but watch the clock. She told the girls she was just checking on the oven or making sure they didn’t sit out too long, but it was painfully obvious that she was watching the minutes tick by as Andrea failed to show up.

A short while later, when the puffs were deemed cool-to-the-touch, the girls pulled the pudding from the fridge and helped Miranda to fill. And because Caroline always insisted on playing that iPod whenever they were in the kitchen, the three of them were laughing and singing along to Kesha’s “Your Love Is My Drug,” so engrossed in what they were doing that no one heard the doorbell.

Andrea stood outside on the front steps. She could hear noises and what sounded like music coming from inside, so she knew someone was home. After almost a minute of waiting, she fished the house key out of her purse and opened the door.

The sound she heard was definitely music, and it was definitely coming from the kitchen. Andrea thought it sounded like Kesha, but she wasn’t sure. Now, it was a different song—something older. She shut the door behind her and slowly walked towards the source of the sound, freezing in place when she reached the kitchen.

_“Why do you build me up — build me up — buttercup, baby, just to let me down — let me down — and mess me around…”_

Andrea brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she watched the three Priestly women singing and dancing in the kitchen.

 _“I need you — I need you — more than anyone, darling,”_ Miranda sang, tapping each daughter on the nose. She stepped to the side to begin working on the next tray of creme puffs and quickly turned around to face Andrea. She offered a tiny smile before turning her head, blushing furiously. “Caroline, turn the volume down, we have a guest,” Miranda said.

 _“I—I—I—I need youu-ooh-ooh,”_ the girls sang in chorus. It wasn’t until Miranda physically took her daughter’s shoulders and turned her around that she stopped and ran to the stereo, turning off the music.

“Andy!” they shouted, running over and hugging her. “Why are you here?”

She smiled and looked up at Miranda. It seems she hadn’t told them about their encounter the previous night. “I was just in the neighborhood and I remembered I still had a key to your house,” she said, holding the key up. “And it’s a good thing, too, because I don’t think you heard me ringing the doorbell or knocking on the door.”

Cassidy pushed the key back towards Andrea. “You should keep it for next time. We sing a lot around here, right Mom?”

Miranda smiled. “Yes we do. Girls, can you finish up the creme puffs while I catch up with Andrea?” she asked.

“Sure,” Caroline said. “Are we going to put them in the fridge?”

“Yes, but I can help. If you want, you can move things around to make some space. Once they’re filled we can squeeze them all onto one or two sheets,” Miranda said. “The pudding just needs to stay refrigerated, so don’t let them sit out too long.”

“Got it.”

“Andrea?” Miranda said, leading her into the living room.

“This is so surreal,” she whispered, sitting down on the couch.

“What?” Miranda asked.

“This. You. Being back here. You being… _normal_ ,” she said. “Oh, no offense, I just mean, well, down-to-earth maybe?”

Miranda smiled. “You are correct in sensing a difference. A lot has changed— _I_ have changed. For the most part, I think it’s for the better.”

“So you never answered me, how are you doing, Miranda? It’s been what, six or seven months?”

Miranda smiled again. “It will be seven months next Tuesday. And, I’m doing really well. Thank you for asking.”     

“Good, good,” Andrea said, looking down at her hands. An awkward silence punctuated the air. It appears neither of them knew what to say next.

After a few minutes, Miranda stood and walked over towards the window and sat along the windowsill. “I took some time off work after everything. I started seeing a therapist, and I even went on a three-week retreat. I really needed to get my priorities straight,” she said, looking out onto the street below.

Andrea felt the familiar cadence of the older woman’s speech. She knew she would continue talking, and she silently applauded herself when she did just that.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you, Andrea. You supported me and my family from the minute you received word in Paris about the attack. There were moments when I was completely out of my mind with grief, but that was no excuse for my words or actions. You deserve better, and all I can offer is an apology. I hope you can forgive me,” Miranda said. She continued to stare out the window, not sure she could handle the disappointment on the young woman’s face.

Andrea got up and stood next to Miranda. She softly grasped Miranda’s hand, and the action must have surprised the editor because she jumped just a little. “Of course,” she said with a smile.

“I would really like to start over with you,” Miranda said, grasping Andrea’s hand with both of her own. “I’d like to take things slow, and from the beginning.”

“With me?” Andrea asked. Her voice cracked just a little, and Miranda looked up. Andrea’s eyes were wet, brimming with tears.

“Yes,” she replied quietly.

Andrea shook her head and looked up to the ceiling. “You finally get your head screwed on straight and you want this…with me?”

Miranda shrugged and nodded her head.

“Yes,” Andrea said.

“Yes what?” Miranda asked, confused.

“Yes to _everything_ ,” Andrea said, squeezing her hand.

Miranda smiled a genuine smile for the first time that afternoon. “Oh, darling,”  she said, cupping her cheek. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Andrea gently tugged her away from the window and led her to the couch. She took the seat next to her and draped her arm over the woman’s shoulders. Miranda curled naturally into her side. “Let’s start with something simple,” Andrea said. “Why don’t you tell me how the—” she paused to think for a moment, “September issue went? That should have just gone to press.” She could already feel the tension melting away from the woman.

“I’ll tell you on one condition,” Miranda said. “That when I’m through, you tell me all about being a ‘rookie’ at _The Mirror_. Deal?”

“Deal,” Andrea said as she pressed a light kiss to the top of Miranda’s head.

Miranda’s heart fluttered at the simple, loving gesture. She took a deep breath, and began to tell the young woman all about the latest issue.

This, Miranda knew, was her second chance.

 

 

 

Fin. xo


End file.
